


light and heat

by cookiethewriter



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, aka /might/ be a smut scene /somewhere/, aka Dean swears a lot, and a little dash of angst because I'm a sucker for it, prepare for fluff, sort-of high school AU, the rating is 'just to be safe', who really knows lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 44,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7731913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiethewriter/pseuds/cookiethewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...his body was working against his temper, clinging to the living furnace sitting beside him and whispering encouraging words into his ear... [ discontinued until further notice! ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue & Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> [x-posted from ffnet]
> 
> This is going to be the same exact fic I've been posting (as AnimeCookie93) to ffnet. I have been updating it on there over the weekends, but since I have a few chapters to make up for, I'll post here as often as I can until I'm all caught up. Bear with me and we'll get through this together. 
> 
> Just like on ffnet, the Prologue and Chapter One are put together because of their shorter length.

**Prologue**

_You always start off with the same thought going through your head: 'Things will definitely be better now'. You smile, excited for your fresh start, a false sense of invincibility because YOU were granted a second chance._

_Second chance ... heh. Try eighth or ninth chance._

_I lost my invincibility card around the fourth time social services picked me up - from a hospital, can you believe that? Bull crap._

_So. Many. Foster homes, and none of 'em were right - almost every single one beat me to hell. One of 'em ended up with me in the hospital. The hand I was dealt was always against me, giving me more reasons to hate everything the world was, what I was. But I couldn't let it win even if the temptation always licked a trail up my neck and threatened to suck my soul out..._

_My respite house was always okay, though - the Helmsley's. The husband was some big-wig at some business and his wife stayed at home, but there was no doubt ever that she ran the show._

_Everything had been totally fine... until they adopted a kid that turned everything around in the worst possible way, practically taking the food off my plate and hogging the affection and care, leaving me alone again._

_After a while, I had to put what little money away I could, y'know, for food and stuff because only the favorites got to eat. Essentially, sort of. I got very little, to the point where sometimes I'd take snacks and stuff from the school cafeteria just so I could have food for later. The more they doted on that one kid the less likely it seemed I'd be making it to the end of the school year._

_Then ... my last foster family showed up. The son of the wealthiest man in the country who didn't want anything to do with his corrupt family: Shane McMahon. It was just him and one other kid, Sami, and wouldn't you know it? He picked me. He and Sami stopped by after an ... 'incident' ... between me and that other kid and saw that I could barely see through my bloody bangs and he immediately told me to get my shit and meet him outside._

_Two years I stayed with him and Sami in his house. Our house._

_I had a home._

_Didn't stop me, though, from screwing around - eventually, I got mixed up with the wrong people, got into fights and there was some ...drinking, some other vices in there, somewhere, I'unno. My grades were crap. My relationships were crap._

_Found out I was into dudes though, so ... that was a thing. Gave kids more of a reason to beat the crap outta me._

_Almost got expelled once._

_..._

_Twice._

_Almost got expelled twice._

_Things eventually got better, though. After a shitty life of abuse and hospital visits, things turned around._

_All after Roman Reigns moved to town._

* * *

**Chapter One**

Dean Ambrose's morning routines usually started with an angry slam of his fist atop a new alarm clock and many, _many_ cusses under his breath. When you say the words 'morning person', the person you'd usually use as an example was his foster brother, Sami, all smiles and big eyes and borderline _hyper._ Hell, who bounces around the house at 6:30 in the morning, anyway?

Dean was the opposite, with low growls and droopy eyes and messy hair.

Luckily, it was Friday morning, the last day of a shitty week.

"Come on, Dean, time to get up!" he heard Shane McMahon call with a few rasps of his knuckles on his closed door. "Unless you expect to walk an hour to school again!"

That got his attention, blue eyes slowly opening and immediately regretting it when he stared directly out his window at the bright sunlight. "Fuuuuuck," he groaned, peeling himself out of his covers and padding over to his dresser to grab today's choice of clothing: a pair of jeans and a black tank top. It took him less time to change than it did to get out of bed, and all in all, he was glad he opted for showering the night before - everyone in their damn house decided to shower this morning.

Dean ran his fingers through his hair to tame the light brown locks that insisted on giving him the _worst_ bedhead known to man; Sami insists on him cutting it short for summer, but the fact of the matter was, at its current length he could hide behind a veil, look at something else without being caught. A last line of defense, maybe, or something he couldn't quite place.

Before he made his descent to the kitchen to join his foster father and brother, he picked up his leather jacket hanging on the doorknob and watches himself in the mirror on the back as he slips his arms into the sleeves - his arms were large with muscle and riddled with scars long-healed, at least on the surface, but he didn't like to show much skin, much evidence of his past. Years of fighting, surviving, hardened your resolve as well as your muscles.

It also helps that his part-time job involves lifting heavy pallets of material at a factory on the edge of town.

Opening his bedroom door without bothering to make his bed or even pick up his dirty clothes - there was always after school, he reasoned - he walks down the hallway and down the stairs, still half asleep, but with the full expectation of being bombarded with the ever-happy person that was Sami.

"About time you woke up!" the other lad spoke around a mouthful of eggs on toast. Dean slid into one of the stools at the island, fixing his brother with a disgusted look before Shane dropped a plate in front of him with as much the same food, a glass of orange juice beside it. A quiet noise of gratitude rumbled in the young man's throat before he picked up a fork and dug it into a good sized piece of egg.

Chewing and swallowing, he bites out, "Not my fault I had to study for a shitty test."

"You studied."

Nodding his head, Dean taps his fingers against his collar bone - a tick he developed as a kid that never went away. The alternative to biting nails, though it'd be a lie if he were to deny he did that, too. "Don't wanna fail another year. I'm already a year behind. Wanna graduate."

Sami relented, giving his brother a good-natured pat on the arm before wolfing down the rest of his breakfast. "Done." Getting up and bringing his plate over to the sink, he leans over the counter, talking in a hushed tone.

"Hey, uh- just wanted to let you know. Kevin's gonna be coming over tomorrow."

Kevin Owens - practically wrote the book on being an asshole. Unfortunately, he was Sami's best friend, and while he wouldn't admit it aloud, he loved his brother. For him, he tried to be civil, but ... Kevin brought out the worst in Dean, antagonizing him. They butted heads constantly; once, Dean almost punched his brother when he tried to interfere and stop them, and Dean does _not_ have a soft punch.

"Why." _Fuuuuuuuck._

Sami shifted from foot to foot. "We're going camping this weekend, with next week being Spring Break and all. He wanted to go over what we needed to get, so I just invited him over. You're not mad, right?"

_You fuckin' bet I'm mad! You little weasel! You mother f-_ "No, I have to work anyway."

"Sure?"

"Yep."

"Okay," Sami said, feeling better slightly. "Okay. Before we go, I'll stop by the factory to say hi?"

"Fine," Dean bit out, now tense.

A look of dejection crossed Sami's eyes, but before he could make things better, Shane came in, swinging his car keys around his finger.

"Let's go!"

One after the other, Sami and Dean filed out of the house, Sami with his checkerboard backpack and Dean with his black one. Since the other male had opted for pissing off Dean, he chose to sit in the back, giving Dean the front seat of Shane's white SUV. Not that the former minded.

The minute they got to the school, Sami and Dean immediately went their separate ways - the former ran to his track buddies, waving in all his excited glory, talking animatedly about his plans for the upcoming break and asking his friends what their plans were. Dean walked past, offering a curt nod as Sami gave his goodbye in the form of a large wave.

His locker was on the second story of the school, and the staircase was in a little room off the hallway. There was no _way_ he could avoid anybody, no way he could stay out of sight. Ducking his head and fixing his backpack, the light-haired boy made himself look as small as possible as he stayed as far off to the side as he could without bumping into anybody.

A shoulder slammed into his. He curses but keeps trudging, knowing he can get there as soon as... he...

_Fuck._

"Yo, Dean," a boy with dark hair and a patch of blond gives him a malicious smile, immediately putting him on edge. "No matter how invisible you think you are, you can't hide your punk-ass from me."

"Talk a lot of shit, for somebody who 'lets me' kick their ass whenever you run your mouth," Dean's gravelly voice turns into a growl, a malicious glint in his blue eyes.

"Ha! You think you're tough shit?" Cracking his knuckles as if to accentuate what he had planned for the brutish boy, Dean slings his backpack jerkily onto the ground, standing ready. "You're just a fuckin' lunatic. Don't think I haven't forgotten the day you attacked me, putting me in casts for almost two months."

His lips turn into a lopsided line, fingers twitching as he suddenly itches to tug on that stupid blond patch.

Seth Rollins was the kid that his respite family had adopted, had punched and kicked and screamed and cried when things didn't go his way, when he didn't succeed in manipulating the people around him. He'd made it a point to only stay on Dean's heels, to go out of his way to rub in how spoiled he was, how popular and how tough he _thought_ he was. All in all, having Seth as his 'bully' was sort of exhausting, and...

He was too _tired_ for this right now - he didn't have anything to drive his fists yet, the day had just started. It didn't stop him from being on the defensive, shrugging off his jacket to flash off the large bulges of muscle he had for biceps.

Was Seth sweating now?

Oh, he was _totally_ sweating now.

Footsteps stopped behind him, and Seth draws his eyes away to flash a grin at whoever was behind Dean. Immediately, Dean slowly slides his head to look over his shoulder, keeping Seth in his peripheral vision to the best of his ability before he catches a long, large tan arm with a tattoo running down it. Hands lax, not looking to attack him from behind, just waiting to see what would happen.

"Hey, buddy!"

A deep voice spoke over his shoulder, causing his stomach to swirl with something unfamiliar. "Seth, what are you doing?"

Dean's eyes fell back upon Seth, eyebrow raised, before he picked up his jacket and backpack simultaneously. "I'm going now."

Their voices fade away as Dean moves up the stairs and disappears down the next hallway, not seeing the pair of gray eyes that followed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody for taking the time to read this; give it kudos, hits (is that AO3-terms for like, views? I'm still learning-) and all the rest. It means a bunch! I hope you enjoy this installment as well - in fact, you probably will. Expect the next update soon!

The first half of the day was boring as shit.

It was about an hour until the lunch block, which meant he was stuck in wood shop. It wasn't a particularly difficult class from his perspective, sanding wood and drilling holes, sometimes he wove yarn over his designs to make a stool. He didn't dislike the class, in fact it gave him a reason to take up some of that pent-up energy he'd managed to store throughout the morning. However, it was a pretty short class, so he didn't get to enjoy being violent for very long.

His project right now was a stool, was working on the final sanding during this class. He intended on giving it to Shane, as one of many thank-yous for saving his damn _life_ almost two years ago. He owed him more than that, but all the money in the world couldn't repay the man.

Dean had discarded his jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair in the front of the class, leaving him in his tank top with sweat glistening off his shoulders and making his hair look wet. Good thing he kept a beanie in his locker - he didn't want his hair to look greasy for the rest of the day.

Not that anybody gave a shit about it, anyway.

"Ambrose. Well done," Mr. Austin, a big, burly man with a bald head and dark sunglasses, examined Dean's work, dragging his finger along the seat and nodding when he didn't get a splinter or nick from any loose strips of wood. "Smooth, no pieces sticking out - gonna stain it?"

"Might just polish," he said simply, brushing his hair back out of his eyes. "Don't want to take away from the original color."

Nodding once more, Mr. Austin clapped a large hand onto his shoulder. "Good job."

A little grin worked its way onto Dean's face, admiring his work with a fold of his arms over his chest.

_Yeah. Good job._

* * *

When it came to the lunch block, literally _nobody_ was safe. It was first come, first serve, and not everybody got to enjoy fresh food.

Luckily for Dean, the cafeteria was literally around the corner from his class, so he was one of the first people to get in line - Shane made a decent living, but food went quickly between himself and Sami. It was a good thing that Dean made his own money, because today, he was _hungry_.

There wasn't anybody Dean knew in the first block, or that he liked was probably more accurate. Seth and his goons usually sat at the first table, making sure that they could torment Dean as he walked by. Not that he paid them much mind - at best, Seth was an annoying little bitch, anyway.

However, a new guy was sitting next to Seth - giving a literal definition to the term 'tall, dark and handsome'. Taller than him - only by a _little_ \- a square face and chiseled jaw, and gray eyes that brought light to the room. His arms were big like Dean's, but more in an 'athlete' kind of big. Looked like a boxer, or football player. Long, black hair hung loose at his shoulders, but it looked like he was putting it up into a bun.

Dean momentarily lost his footing but recovered, scowling at the 'thing' he tripped on.

"Ambrose!"

Dean glared over in Seth's direction, at his dark hair with blond skunk streak.

Of course, if he was going to piss him off intentionally, there was no reason why he couldn't do the same.

"Scumbag!" he called back, in a feigned excited voice.

The rest of the table tittered, but Dean watched the little grin on the larger man's face. Couldn't tear himself away from it, in fact, until he raised his hand to thumb his collarbone again.

"That obnoxious habit is gonna make me punch you in the face. Knock it off," Seth jibed.

Dean looked at him, making his eyes grow big as if in challenge, continuing his quiet tapping.

The table muttered, Dean only picking up 'lunatic' and 'weird'.

Lunatic. The second time he heard that today.

Movement in the corner of his eye drags his attention to the large man, who had scooted out of the chair he was sitting in and reaching his hand out in greeting. Instinctively, Dean shrugs away from his hand, but when it's obvious that he wasn't about to get slapped, he relented. "I saw you briefly yesterday - I'm Roman Reigns. Unfortunately, I've known Seth since we were kids. I just moved here from Florida."

"Roman," Dean tried the name on his tongue, decided he liked it, and cautiously but eventually grabbed Roman's hand for a firm shake - _what, did he stick his hand in an oven? So warm_. "Dean Ambrose. You can stand him? Every time I see him, I want to punch him in his face."

"Daaaamn, Seth," Roman turned around, giving Dean an unhealthy view of his collarbone through his vest and _god damn it Dean, focus_. "What did you do to piss him off?"

Seth opened his mouth to speak, but somebody spoke for him. "It's easy to piss him off. Damn lunatic probably gets mad at his own reflection in the morning."

That made Seth laugh in a loud display, giving the guy a high five and causing Dean to outwardly snarl.

Gray eyes slide back to Dean, but it didn't look like he believed them. Instead, he said with a grin, "Easy for you to say - nearly pissed your pants when you saw me. Jumpy as all hell; never saw anybody shoot soda out their nose so _far_ before."

Dean's anger dissipated like a tea kettle, a gradual change in emotion from anger to surprise - did somebody just ... stick up for him? I mean, sorta, right? Dark eyelashes blinked over blue eyes, which couldn't seem to stop looking at Roman again. This was such a weird day.

Weird... but... but also a _good_ weird?

Seth was roaring with laughter, clapping his friend on the back with near tears in his eyes. "Oh my god, Rome, you're my new favorite person!"

Dean saw this as a good escape - everybody was too busy laughing at Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome. Taking a small step back and headed toward the line, he couldn't stop replaying what had happened in his head, wondering idly if he was suffering from a fever dream or something. He received praise, was stuck up for ... his temper was pretty mellow, actually, which was odd considering he'd almost just slammed Seth's head into his food.

This was _such a weird day_.

* * *

"Dean!" Sami runs up to him, his hand wrapped around the strap to his backpack as he wraps his other arm around his brother's shoulders. "I'm headed to the ice cream parlor after school with a few track buddies, sans Kevin because he has to help his dad. Wanna co-"

"Ah, mis amigos!" a tall, tan man walked up, his arms spread wide in a greeting. Sami turned to face the guy, but immediately stepped a bit behind Dean's arm, which shot out at that moment; Alberto Del Rio was a grade-A bully to Sami, had been since they started high school, pushing him around and calling his names. It was like, the Dean and Kevin predicament, but Alberto was taller than Sami, a little bit more defined.

"Fuck off, Del Rio," Dean's voice was like the crack of a whip, his face darkening in dislike. He could take care of himself just fine when it came to his own bullies, but Sami was a much nicer person, didn't like getting into fights much. He was built similar to Dean was, with broad shoulders and tone here and there, but he wasn't built to withstand the amount of hurt that was meant for him now. Not frail, but not the epitome of tough, either.

That's where big-brother Dean came in, his life preparing him for moments like this.

A few words were thrown here and there - a threat from Dean, a flippant insult from Alberto, traded back in forth for what could have been almost ten minutes before Sami tried to intervene again.

"Okay, let's all take it easy-"

From behind Alberto, two other larger guys stepped forth. Dean didn't like either of them, and immediately was ready to punch either one in the face; Rusev was a literal brute, the fists behind whatever union Alberto had rallied behind. He had a thick Bulgarian accent, was part of this huge foreign exchange program that brought a small group of kids from all over the world to this school to get a proper education. The second guy, also part of this program, was raised in Dublin, Ireland. His name was Sheamus - a ridiculously Irish-sounding name that Dean found absolutely hilarious.

Still hated him, though.

"You punks wanna piece of us, ah?" Rusev bellowed, flexing his sleeveless arms and making a fist in the direction of Dean and Sami. The former snarled, his nose wrinkled in distaste as he mutters a dark curse under his breath, slipping off his jacket once more and giving it to Sami to hold. "You think you a tough guy, huh?"

"I'm gonna give you a chance to back off before I kick the shit outta you," Dean said in a calm voice, but his gravelly tone made it sometimes difficult to come off as calm. "Leave 'im alone."

But, they didn't. Sheamus stepped around Alberto, in all his pasty-white Celtic glory, and uttered, "Yeah? An' what are _you_ gonna do about it?"

It was like someone releasing a trigger, an immediate reaction that even made Sami feel dazed. Dean leaps at Sheamus first, punching his head, kneeing him and clawing and there was even an attempt at a bite somewhere. It was a flash of limbs and hair and a grunt or five. Where Dean might have been able to claim a victory if not for a certain Bulgarian brute grabbing him by the hips and throwing him into the stairs nearby.

"Dean!"

"...Dean?"

He cracked one eye open, uttering a growl of pain while he did so. A tan face bent closer to him, to the point where a head of black and eyes of silver greeted him and he rolled away with an added _shit_ under his breath.

Perfect. Roman would get to see him get his ass kicked.

_Greeeeat._

"Did you have to roll _right_ under my feet?"

Dean pushed himself up, wincing as his back suddenly twinged in pain as he did so, before he bent his arm over himself as he cast a nasty scowl at Seth. "Fuck off, Rollins."

Seth looked between Dean and the place where he saw three large men skulking their way over, as well as Sami running after them with the brunet's jacket; he was panting slightly before turning to get back into the fray. The one who called his name put a hand on his shoulder before he could step toward them.

"Hey... what's going on?"

Dean turned slightly to face Roman, eyes narrowed, lip curling to flash teeth, yet the latter somehow managed to speak in an even tone. "Nothin'."

Just as Dean made to run back into the fray, Alberto came up behind Sami and picked him up, making him drop Dean's jacket, and threw him in as much the same direction, though Dean caught him first. Of course, the brunt of the assault was such that he ended up almost falling back-first onto the same stairs he'd scraped himself off of...

...before Roman caught him, his hands steadying his arms, hard chest against Dean's back.

Opening his eyes to the odd sensation of his back against warmth, he felt his eyes widen again, only this time he couldn't bring himself to look up at his apparent savior.

"In my family, you've _always_ got back up," is all he said before he righted Dean and made his way toward the three other kids. All the light-haired boy could do was stare, slack-jawed. Sami, standing a few inches smaller than Dean, wiggled out of his arms and found himself watching as well before turning to Seth.

Who, truthfully, he didn't mind.

"Who's that guy?"

Seth turned to Sami, gave him a once over, and decided against giving him shit - after all, Dean was still _right there._ "That's my buddy, Roman Reigns. Moved from Pensacola and is stayin' with me for a while. Seems to have a thing for Ambrose, though." They all turn to watch Roman, who's getting into the face of every single guy who was starting trouble. Sheamus, who hadn't yet shut his mouth about Dean being a little bitch or _whatever_ even got a direct punch to the skull. Sami turned back to Seth.

Dean turned his head slightly before he ran to join the fray. He'd shaken off his shock, the pain had dulled, and he was ready to punch the shit out of Sheamus now.

"How do you know that?" Sami asked, surprised but not disbelieving.

Seth felt himself crack a grin. "Because, since they were introduced this morning, the damn nightmare hasn't stopped asking me about him."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the updates will keep on a'rolling! Thanks everyone for the continued kudos and hits. In my continued efforts to give y'all my best work, I realized how strenuous it was to re-edit each chapter as it comes up, and as I want this to eventually be the site I go to to post my (absolutely ship trash) works, but don't worry. I'm not gonna stop. That does mean, however, that the story on here will be different in either minute or exponential ways and, eventually, I'll fix it on the FFnet version to fit. 
> 
> Also, a note: There's the briefest of cameos in this one. By reference, not by actual screen-time. I'd offer a prize to anyone who guesses it, but I pretty much tell you anyway, so-- just know you're probably hella rad anyway. Onto the chapter!

"I knew it'd leave a nasty bruise," Dean moaned as he poised himself with his back facing his mirror and, with his neck twisted uncomfortably, was able to see the damage that had been done to his fair skin; it was pretty tender when he woke up this morning, which came as no surprise to him. He had taken a couple of pain killers just to be able to sleep, but this? This was a nightmare.

Not that he didn't have blemishes from abuses past all over his body already, but this? This would sting for a while. It already stunted his walking, making him all stiff. The start of his spring break was already going just swimmingly... well. At least he'd slept in today.

Shane usually was off during the weekend, which meant barbecues, a trip to the beach- unfortunately, Dean hadn't been lying when he told Sami he had to work today, but luckily that wasn't for a few more hours. He had to move, or else he'd get stiffer and not be able to work.

_I could just ... not go in today. I'm not gonna be able to do anything like this._

Opting to not put a shirt on for the sake of not yelping in pain - he and Roman might have won the battle yesterday, but he was the one who got thrown into a flight of stairs - Dean stiffly walked out of his bedroom, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets. He wondered if he'd be able to get today off, and if he did, what he could get away with doing that wouldn't put his back out of commission for good; he didn't have friends, didn't have a social life ... Shane didn't mind making time for him if he needed it but, god damn it, he was nineteen years old. Plenty old enough to do something alone.

_Wouldn't be for the first time._

The house seemed empty - not that he was complaining, but ever since he'd had the littlest taste of companionship, he comes to expect someone being around, even if just in the background. Of course, he knows that being alone means something different now, a less-intense wash of emotions flowing around him that, instead of tightening and squeezing and burning... a lighter, mistier feeling swam around.

But, Sami was already gone.

Shane must have gone out somewhere.

It was just him and his bruised-to-shit back.

His phone in his pocket buzzed to life then, giving his mind no time to seek refuge in the silence, and he reached slowly to tug it out and see a text.

**Not gonna need you at work today, Ambrose**

It hadn't been his idea to exchange numbers with his boss, a big burly man with thick curls and a thicker, curlier beard. The man had insisted he only call him 'Mick', but referring to his boss by his first name was some strange ritual that Dean didn't understand.

With a curt reply affirming the plans for the day, Dean threw his phone onto the counter-top while he shuffled into the fridge to make himself something to eat. _I'll take one of everything_ he thought, grabbing the orange juice and butter and eggs and fruit and...

His phone rang again. This time, a phone call, and it makes the light-haired boy pause.

He had deleted the number a long time ago, but for some reason, the number had become ingrained in his very soul: Seth's cell phone number. Before they had become enemies, they had been closer, not quite friends but a little more than acquaintances. Civil names said in passing. Narrowed eyebrows over skeptical blue eyes, he reaches for the phone, his thumb hovering over the green button before he presses it too firmly.

"What the _fuck_ do you want, Rollins?"

_"Eheh, uh- this is Roman. I kinda took Seth's phone."_

Anger switched to surprise, then confusion settled over him - why the hell did fuckin' _Roman Reigns_ want to talk to him? Did he want to brag about their victory, or tease him for getting his ass kicked before he stepped in, or...?

_"Yo, how's your back?"_

...that was unexpected.

"Uh. It's fine, I guess. Bruised, but I'll live." As if it had heard him talking about it, his bruise throbbed and he thumbed the darkest part carefully, wincing and suddenly very glad they weren't speaking face to face. "That why you called me?"

_"That and to make sure this was Dean Ambrose, and not some other 'Dean'."_

Dean honestly didn't even want to know why his name was still in the other's phone.

"Yep, well, it's me alright." What the hell was he supposed to say now? Nobody called him for friendly conversation, and even _less_ people called because they cared for his well being. What was this, Hallmark? Was he being _Punk'd_? "You fairin' any better?"

A deep laugh made Dean's chest tingle, and he reacted with a scowl aimed at the wall. _"I guess I can't complain - hey, Seth, me and another friend of Seth's are going to the gym and then to lunch. Wanted to know if you wanted to come, too."_

What the _fuck_ was happening?!

"Uh..." Dean's fingers of his free hand tapped incessantly on his collarbone, his tongue shooting out to lick his lips as he looked around, expecting to see cameras or a propped mic dipping into view. _What the fuck what the fuck._ "Seth's just lettin' you steal his phone and invite somebody who he knows would probably break him in half?" _And they call ME a lunatic!_

A second laugh and Dean's tapping slowed, his head stopping in his paranoid looks and instead staring at the ground. What the _fuck_. _"First off ... I mean, I told him I had to use his phone to call somebody while mine's charging. Didn't tell him it was you, though."_ Dean's finger stilled, pressed on his collarbone but didn't tap. _"You wanna come or no? No sweat if you're busy, I just thought I'd ask."_

 _That's more than anybody else did_ Dean realizes with stunning clarity; no one ever asked him to do anything let alone request his company. Not without an overwhelming shadow of doubt looming over him. Just look at his track-record when it came to people he chose to let in: few people in grade school, all ended in disaster and bruises; his mom's old 'buddies' that came home with her, drunk and horny and aggressive; the McMahon family sans Shane, who all kicked him away as soon as Seth- _Seth_. That motherfucker, that scumbag, that...

"Yeah. Sure. I'll meet you there in an hour."

_"Great."_

The call ended, but Dean kept staring at his phone, wondering if he was high or asleep or both. What _even_ was going on?

Putting what was going to be a breakfast feast back in the fridge and closing the door slowly, he moved away and snatched up his phone in the process, ignoring the pain in his back as he went back up the stairs, taking it two steps at a time.

* * *

After receiving the address to the gym, Dean threw his duffel bag of gym clothes into Sami's car; the good part about having a brother like Sami was that, if the light haired young man needed to use his car, he was more than willing to share it. Despite common misconception, Dean was a better driver than his brother, treated cars as well as all his possessions better than himself, and the only reason he didn't have his own car right now was that he had let Sami borrow it and... well.

Sami hit a telephone pole. In a way that the damages would cost more than the used car had cost, which as much as he liked having the freedom of driving, it just wasn't worth it. It had been a gift from Shane, and he felt bad about giving the damn thing to the scrap yard, but what was he supposed to do?

It was easy to find the gym - what wasn't easy was calming his _god damned heart_ down since that stupid _fucking_ phone call; it wasn't just that he was invited anywhere or that he got to leave the house, no... the idea of being stuck in a gym with Roman seemed to make him... fidgety. It was a foreign thing, but not an unwanted foreign thing - deep down, he wondered why, but didn't want to give in to the hopeful voice inside his head.

Somebody wanted to ... hang out with him.

_That 'somebody' was friends with Scumbag Rollins. Can't trust him._

He went and beat up Sheamus, Rusev and Alberto when they were giving he and Sami a hard time.

_He only wanted to show you how inferior you are; can't even protect your own brother._

He... stood up for him.

_Don't let him get in your head. He'll only hurt you. Only abandon and use you._

Dean didn't think he would. He _never_ thinks somebody won't hurt him.

He...

... _almost_ missed the god damned turn into the parking lot. See what thinking gets you? Fuckin' distracted. Idiot.

Putting the car in park somewhere in the middle of the lot and grabbing his duffel bag in the back seat, Dean looks on with narrowed blue eyes at the plaza where the gym is located, noting the health-and-fitness shops on either side going for about three stores both ways, until he spots a bar and grill on the very edge.

Scrunching up his mouth and biting out a _here goes nothing_ , he walks with purpose toward the gym and, immediately, sees Roman standing in the back with his black hair down, laughing at something Seth says and then raising his arms in a playful block as the two-toned-haired lad moves to hit him.

He didn't know he was coming.

_Perfect._

Stepping inside and feeling a vote of confidence as the bell rings loudly above him, and as if in perfect synchronization, Roman, Seth and one other guy turn their heads, and all have very different reactions: Roman's tan face lights up, making the large Samoan's face look angelic; Seth looked worried, as if he was afraid Dean might run up to him and rip him to shreds, which was probably fair; the other guy, who Dean would assume had his face compressed, with beady eyes and thin, pouty lips, looked more surprised than anything.

Simultaneously, Seth and Roman spoke.

"Dean, hey!" A happy, familiar sound, as if they had been friends forever.

"Ambrose!" A shocked noise, perhaps with an added tremble.

Roman didn't see the moment when Seth looked to him with a 'how could you do this' expression, for he had started walking toward the slightly-shorter man and jerked a thumb over to the corner. "The lockers are over in there, the showers through the door behind 'em. Stay as long as you want, because my cousin owns this place and gave me the key. Nobody will bother us."

"Uh, too late?" Seth said, voice a hair below frantic as he waved his hands at the light-brown haired young man. "Dean's bothering me!"

"Oh, he didn't even do anything yet," gray eyes rolled, making Dean snort.

"The _yet_ is what I'm worried about!" whined Seth.

Rolling his eyes again for good measure, Roman led Dean, who made sure to level blue eyes at the two-toned pansy-ass as he walked by before he placed his gym bag on a bench nearby. Digging through it, he pulls out his bandage tape and starts wrapping it around his wrists, using almost the whole thing on both hands before he dragged his hand through his hair, mussing up the light locks and giving himself a clear view as Roman slipped off his fitted tee shirt to flex his large arms and chest.

Dean quickly fixes his hair back into his face, licking his lips before he gives a tug to his muscle shirt, keeping his body hidden.

Everyone seems to have picked a designated area - Seth and the other guy seemed to take the farthest possible place from Dean, which happened to be the treadmills behind a glass door. Upon noticing this, his eyes roll in exasperation as he remembers he left his iPod on his dresser, fully charged, ready to go. Not that he'd use it - he gets too deeply into his own mind if he focuses enough.

Roman, on the other hand, had grabbed a small dumbbell and was working his biceps, and blue eyes become entranced at the sight of the skin stretching and bulging and...

...he walks away, finding the punching bag and flexing his fingers, front facing Roman.

It's not difficult to picture a punchable face as his closed fist falls upon the bag with practiced grace, and suddenly he has a rhythm: punch; punch low, punch high; three quick jabs with his right before he swings a mighty left fist. His hair falls in and out of his vision, to the point where it annoys him and he brushes it haughtily out of his face, continuing his assault on the offending hanging target.

"Imagining it's Seth's face?" Roman had walked over, not close enough to rouse him, but enough where they could talk in semi-private. There's a hint of humor in his deep voice, a feeling of comfort settling between the two young men before a much harsher, rough voice echoes.

"Yup. Howd'ja know?" Sarcasm.

Thin lips stretched into a smile before he switches hands, giving Dean a healthy view of his large tattoo over his large arm, and when he realizes he hadn't been breathing, he stops to relieve the burn in his lungs and shoves the bag as if it was talking shit.

"Hope it's not getting too personal," Roman sets down the weight and stretches out his shoulders before taking the opportunity to stand himself opposite Dean and take a crack at the bag. "But why do you hate him so much?"

Scrunching his nose in distaste, Dean takes a couple steps back and takes the dumbbell Roman had been lifting, still feeling the heat emanating from his giant palm and he finds his body drawn to such heat. Testing the weight in his hand, he relents that he can get a decent workout from it and starts lifting it. "When I was between houses, I'd go to his parents' house, y'know, like respite or whatever?" His grip tightens on the dumbbell, before he switches hands and works his other bicep. "He was a cool dude at first, y'know. I don't hate him for no reason, know what I'm sayin'."

"I do," Roman said slowly, as if absorbing the information, before he punches the bag a little harder. Dean wonders what he pictures in that moment. Gray eyes peek at him through black hair that seemed to slip into his vision. "He's just... really scared of you, it seems."

"Oh, yeah," Dean said around a laugh, almost. "That's because once I was done putting up with his crap, I attacked him. Broke his nose, probably a few ribs- put him in the fucking hospital, that's what I did." Dean dropped the weight in his hand and narrowly escaped dropping it on his foot before he shook his hands, bouncing in place, itching for the punching bag again.

Itching to punch Seth again.

Sensing the other's distress, Roman pauses, watching the bouncing with an almost curiosity before Dean stops bouncing, but opts for balling his hands into fists and pounding them against his jaw. "-and before, we were a lot closer- not like... not like friends or anything, but like more than strangers, know what I'm sayin'? He watched my back when some of the bigger kids used to push me around. But you see, eventually he figured out that nothin' I could offer benefited him in any way, so he started kicking the crap outta me, too. Never did it in front of mommy and daddy though."

The words were tumbling out of his mouth, out of control, but Roman never stopped him. Who knew how long he'd been keeping this inside for it to just fall out of him like this. So he stayed quiet, listening, and that's more than anybody has done for the brunet. Eventually, he lost steam, his words fading away when he realizes what he'd been talking about. It took him a few seconds to realize that Roman hadn't said anything, but after a few moments, his deep voice rumbled between them.

"I think ... I remember you. If you lived at the Helmsley's sometimes, I think I remember Seth pointing you out to me."

"I think I would remember seeing you." _I mean, hot damn-_

Roman laughs, a soft breathy sound as he rubs behind his neck. "I was uh- a little chunkier then."

Furrowing his eyebrow, he tries to remember. It was usually Seth and two bigger kids who beat the crap out of him. He looks at Roman, takes in his tanned skin and those gray eyes and dark hair and tries to pin them to a memory: no, he's not the one who had Dean's arms locked behind him, nor was he the one who grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back so that Seth could strike him across the chest and stomach.

A third person joins the picture, fuzzy but there, and blinking hard, Dean tries to make image focus.

Not ridiculously chunky, but a little bulkier in the waist and shoulders. A voice calls for Seth to stop, he wants to get back to the video game, before he remembers the eyes. The angry eyes, pointed at Seth, and then the gentler ones that stare back at him when the anger dissipates once he's dropped to the floor.

Slowly, Dean raises his head to see a smiling Roman. "You remember?"

He moves to open his mouth, to say something - but Seth interrupts him.

"Once you two are done making out in the corner, I'm ready for a burger!"

The tall Samoan laughs good-naturedly, but doesn't actually offer a witty retort. What he does do, however, is watch as Dean slinks away toward his bag to pull out his change of clothes before he turns away to shower.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Thanks, everybody, for the kudos! It means a whole lot!) The little delay was due to a storm passing over and me losing Internet for about a day. Literally the only thing I'd been worried about was posting this story on its respective sites, lol. Kinda silly, right? Anyway, here's #4!

Dean, Roman, Seth and Other Guy rolled up to the burger place in two separate vehicles, Seth driving the other two in his luxurious sports car; he remembered the feigned shock on his smug face when the car was given to him in the first place, his brown eyes big and mouth wide open, even though he had known they would give it to him anyway. He always got everything he ever wanted.

They walked into the restaurant together, all in rather relaxed wear; after he worked out or got home from work, Dean usually slipped into a sleeveless sweatshirt and a pair of faded jeans - a pair that made his ass look, actually, _really_ good. They chose to occupy a booth that seated six, Seth and Roman on one side, and Other Guy and Dean on the other so that the latter and Roman were directly across from each other.

And surprisingly? It went on without incident.

Seth remained civil, making jokes with Roman and avoiding every opportunity to be a jackass, and Other Guy didn't really seem to know about their feud, which was good news for Dean. There was only mild teasing, but it was more at Seth's or Other Guy's expense than anything, and when their food arrived, the table was completely silent.

That's when Dean's eyes wandered.

Roman seemed to be focused enough on a side-conversation he was having with Seth, all the while occasionally slipping a piece of chicken finger into his mouth. He seemed to be purposefully speaking quietly, asking questions or something, when occasionally brown eyes would slither in Dean's direction. Blue and brown would lock then, confused and irritated, before brown slid back to gray.

_What the hell are they talking about?_

A familiar buzzing roused him from his concerned watching, and blue eyes slid down to his pocket - as not very many people had his phone number, it was easy enough to decipher who it was who could be trying to reach him - before he dug in his pocket. Standing up, he waved a half-hearted apology toward the group and ignored the whines of "C'mon, Ambrose!" from Seth.

_New Message from_ [Sami]

He opened it.

**I need you to come get me...**

Sighing through his nose, he punched back his reply: _you okay?_

The response came almost too slowly, almost two minutes after - usually, Sami was a lot faster about responding.

**I'll tell you later, please?**

A guttural growl escaped the light-haired man, lips turned into a sneer before he very nearly throws his phone - he had warned Sami that Kevin was a bad dude! Dean was the kind of person who could sense bad people with little effort, has _boasted_ about it - he had been right about countless other people who Sami had often tried to befriend, but he never listened when it came to Kevin. Sometimes, Dean wondered if they had a _thing_ going on, but never cared enough to ask. Now ... oho, he cared.

"I gotta go," Dean growled out, his phone slammed in his pocket. Immediately, Seth shrugged and Other Guy never cared in the first place. Roman, however, seemed a little concerned.

"Everything okay?"

"Nope," he said simply, before adding for good measure, "Family emergency."

Nobody said anything, even after he ran out of the restaurant with his food half-eaten.

* * *

An angry-sounding squeak of the breaks sounded from the hospital parking lot as Dean all but thrashed his body out of the driver's seat and ran toward the Emergency Room entrance; he knew the area where Sami was going camping quite well, and in the middle of his journey toward the campground, a phone call broke the quiet, revealed to be Shane letting him know of his foster brother being in the hospital in the town before the camp grounds.

Normally, Dean was a safe driver - this time? He was going at least 20 miles over the speed limit.

An erratic heartbeat echoes in his ears as he runs to the desk and hollers words he's pretty sure sound like his brother's name. The nurse behind the desk sputters, trying to push a clipboard into his face before he pushes it back into her lap.

"Sami. Zayn. Where is he?!"

The pounding of his fist atop the front desk didn't seem to rush anybody to the scene, and he was about to yell and let the world see his heart on his sleeve before the door opened behind him and he whirled toward it, ready to spew a few obscenities at the offending newcomer, but instead his eyes grow wide at a large hand with a white paper bag in his hand, smelling of grease and fries.

_R...Roman?_

* * *

It took three nurses and Roman to calm down the young man, but by the time he was calm enough to hear a coherent thought, the only person he could stand to talk to was the Samoan. There was no odd feeling anymore, no confusion, just calm. His hands were covering his face, which was hunched over, his elbows pressing into his knees as he tried to get as small as he could.

He had tried to warn Sami, numerous times, about the kind of person Kevin was, and how his sixth sense revealed that he was actually an asshole, his brother - ever the warm heart, god damn him - didn't believe him, thought that he was being paranoid. But... now look at him.

Roman's palm was against Dean's neck, providing stability more than comfort, and despite his initial instincts he leaned close to the heat radiating off of the other man and stayed put, letting the quiet settle in his veins and cool his blood. He was so fucking _wired_ right now, but his body was working against his temper, clinging to the living furnace sitting beside him and whispering encouraging words into his ear.

A doctor walks toward them, meandering rather than with purpose, and Dean is the first to react as he stands up, Roman's hand dropping from his neck - and he tries to ignore the way that large palm runs down his back as he does so. Blue eyes pierced a hole into the doctor's head, but he handled the scrutinizing surprisingly well.

"You're here for Mr. Zayn, right?"

Dean nods before he says anything. "I'm Dean, his brother - what's the damage?" He's got his arms wrapped around himself, nails digging into his naked arms and absently nicking the scars that ran along his slighty-tanned skin.

"Not as bad as it seemed," the doctor starts, hands motioning for him to relax, which he absolutely does not do. "He is slightly concussed from a direct blow to the head, and he has a few bruised ribs, but other than that his body seems to be fine."

Dean can hear the sad tone to the doctor's voice. _So Kevin did do something. That motherfucker. I will end him. Fuckin' DEAD._

"Was... did he-" he can't get the fucking words out, but his breath catches, chokes him, and he wishes he didn't have to.

Doctor Whoever shakes his head. "No, no." Dean lets out a loud exhale, but sucks it back in as the doctor continues to discuss Sami's condition, "He was responsive, did as the nurses asked, but he didn't say much of anything. Just asked for you."

A few more words were exchanged between them, but blue eyes were downcast, occasionally nodding when asked a question; what would have happened if Dean hadn't overslept on Saturday? Could he have made any sort of difference whatsoever, even a threat that would have changed the outcome for Sami?

Even if he couldn't have changed it, he will always think he could have.

The doctor leaves with words too quiet for Dean to register, but a stable palm rests on his shoulder and it rouses him. Picking his head up and over his shoulder to see Roman standing slightly taller than him, he finds a comforting little smile on the larger man's face, and it brings out a relieved little laugh.

"He's gonna be okay," he breathes, before he suddenly feels Roman press his forehead against his. His breath escapes him in one quick exhale, one nose rubbing against his, heat trapped between them and it's entirely too intimate for them to be this close.

But he doesn't pull away, only pushes his head into the other's, closing his eyes before he remembers that the doctor told him Sami's room number.

_Just five more seconds. He's so warm. I'm fuckin' hot, but he's warm-_

Lips move, saying something unintelligible, but neither of them move until footsteps approach, and it's Roman who pulls back. A nurse escorts Dean, and while Roman would have been alright with staying behind, a calloused palm presses against his wrist and he's being tugged alongside the light-haired man. He doesn't resist.

Neither mention it, even when they get inside the room a few minutes later and Dean is pulling Roman with him to his brother's bed.

* * *

Roman was kind enough to drive them all home in his bigger SUV, Sami staying in the backseat to sleep off his medication; he had on Dean's sleeveless hooded shirt, as apparently in the heated scuffle he and Kevin had gotten into, his own got shredded. Dean swore he'd retrieve the rest of his clothes the next day, but Sami had said something about his bag being thrown into the lake. That certainly didn't make the callous young man feel better, but he didn't say anything else until after the ginger had fallen back to sleep.

"I'm gonna kill 'im," Dean said, voice hoarse as if he'd been screaming all day. "Kevin Owens is fuckin' dead."

Roman snorted, making the light-haired man turn to him with a scowl. "How do you expect to do that? You don't think this Owens guy don't know what he's done?"

"Oh, he knows what he did. He messed with the brother of Dean fuckin' Ambrose. Nobody messes with my people."

Roman didn't say anything, but Dean could tell he wanted to.

The car ride fell silent after that - a companionable silence with only minor vocalizations whenever Dean tried to turn on the radio. There was once when both men moved to turn on the radio, and their fingers brushed, but Dean pulled his hand away first and nursed it as if he'd been burned; perhaps he had been.

"Yer' like a walkin' furnace, you know?"

Roman laughed quietly, looking in the rear-view mirror to make sure he didn't accidentally wake the sleeping Sami. "Oh, I know. A blessing and a curse."

Dean looked over at Roman, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Guess that makes you literally the hottest person I know."

Gray eyes slid to look at Dean, his lips stretching into a sly little grin. "Oh yeah?"

"Yep."

Grin turned into a flirtatious smile, and Roman pulls around a corner, and suddenly they're back at Dean and Sami's house. Shane is on the porch, chin pressed into worried hands before he sees Dean in the front seat. About to quip back, Roman puts the car in park and points a finger at Dean. "To be continued. Time for me to kick your ass out."

Dean gets out slowly, watching Roman a second too long as he opens the driver door and then the back seat, admiring his back in his muscle shirt rather shamelessly. When he's out, he runs to the other side and pats the Samoan on the back to make room for him. Sami reaches for them both, a small smile on his face as he's carefully pulled out.

"Thank you," he says softly to both men before he walks slowly in the direction of Shane, who's already left his spot on the stairs and is crossing the yard.

They watch him together, Dean with furrowed eyebrows before the two look at each other and open their mouths to say something before they just find themselves staring at each other, an electricity shooting in the space between them; in Dean's defense, he hadn't had many relationships, but he'd had plenty of times where he'd had chemistry with people, and he couldn't deny that despite knowing Roman for a couple of days only, there was a satisfying chemistry that shot between them.

That sixth sense he had? It worked for good people, too. And... Roman? He was a... a good dude.

A good dude who was giving him a very 'bedroom-eyes' look right now.

Shifting under his sharp gaze, Dean angles his head slightly to let his hot breath dust against the Samoan's pink lips. "Guess we'll have to get my car back at some point."

Swallowing, Roman nods. "You're right. When's your next day off?" They had begun to inch closer, both at an aching pace that left the other panting and begging and Dean's tongue slips out to lick his lips before his blue eyes darken a little.

"Thursday."

Lips twitch, shivering under the closeness; their lips are almost touching and it's driving the other mad. "Thursday. I'll pick you up at noon."

The sly grin appears on his lips again as Dean utters in barely a whisper, "It's a date," before walking away.

Leaving Roman to stare in flustered silence as he watches Dean walk up the steps and join his family inside.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost caught up! Hope y'all are enjoying this almost-daily upload schedule, because it's gonna sync up with the FFnet schedule (an update every Saturday) once we're all there. I'll be glad to take the in-between days as writing/plotting days. I have some good stuff -angst, fluff, possible backstage smut- planned!
> 
> Off we go!

And, wouldn't you know it? Dean was more wound up after the events of Saturday even days after, storming through the house as if he was ready to either tear somebody up or _tear somebody up._ Shane had gone back to work after a couple days off, and the times when Shane wasn't home, Dean took up the responsibility of staying with Sami despite his physical injuries being small in comparison to other things.

His heart was broken, though. That takes longer to heal than a few bruises.

Of course, he couldn't be there all the time, as he has to work. His boss is understanding once he tells him the circumstances, but Dean doesn't ask for time off or anything. Just warns Mick that he'll have his phone nearby instead of in his locker.

When he isn't working, he spends the days at home with Sami, helping him in whatever ways he could without smothering the younger man - he wasn't big on affection, so he wasn't one to hover or dote, but he'd sit on the couch with Sami and keep him company for a while.

Nighttime, however, was reserved for one person once the duties of the day were dealt with, and that was Roman.

Dean wouldn't say he's obsessed, and he _definitely_ wouldn't say he was in love or anything - too fast, too scary, too premature. But, it wasn't everyday he found a light that didn't blind him, hurting him and scarring him. Roman's light was a rich gold, heavenly and rich and hot but comfortable. The sun, without the deadly gasses and fire.

They'd text a lot. Some 'hello' and 'how are you' that often quickly turned into playful, flirtatious banter back and forth. It was surprisingly easy for Dean to slip into that kind of person, though he didn't understand why. Underneath the gruff, ragged exterior was a charming, funny guy, apparently.

But tonight - a rather stormy Tuesday night, two days before the day that the two would go get Dean's -Sami's- car - things had taken a serious turn. One that made fire burn in Dean's stomach and made his skin crawl.

All day, Roman had been silent, when even the occasional text came in to make some offhand statement about something he'd see or hear that made him laugh or think about Dean. However, after Dean had gotten out of work and, without the absence of his car, had started the trek back home on foot, he received a phone call.

 **Roman** the caller ID read, and he stopped walking and answered.

"Wassup?"

There's nothing on the other line that suggests that it was a premeditated call, the sounds muffled, but it sounds like some kind of brawl is happening on the other end; a deep-sounding "Oof!" and the sound of a heavy something hitting flesh, one might be correct in assuming that the person on the other side was getting beat up.

His stomach fell. "Roman, where are you?"

Of course, a clatter sounded just to the right of him, one that echoed in the phone as well, and something in Dean's blood caught on fire like a match dropped on kerosene. Despite the fatigue settling in his bones after a day of lifting and heaving and heavy labor he _still_ found the energy to run toward the direction of the sound before he turned into an alleyway.

The closer he got, the clearer he could hear Roman grunt in pain, and he thrashes off his uniform jacket that had his name and employer stitched into the back, standing shirtless now with a pair of jeans that had once been rather neat looking. Circling around the corner into a larger space mostly occupied by a dumpster, he saw Roman on the ground, covering his head with his hands, his dark hair having fallen out of whatever it had been and splayed around him messily. Above him were two large men, a different kind of large than he and Roman were; tall, bulky, intimidating in a different sort of light and rather than listen to the part of his mind that told him to be careful, he turns careless.

_**"Get away from him!"** _

Dean pushes against the man who was standing directly over the Samoan, using his momentum to further push him away before he spins around and swings his arm toward the other man, who was just large enough not to escape the offending appendage so much as be grazed by a tightly-closed, white-knuckled fist.

Light brown strands stuck along his skin, casting a shadow over his eyes that were wide in fury, conveying the very word that people used often to describe him.

_Lunatic._

A shorter man, who was leaning against the wall with arms crossed and a long bushy beard covering the smile that crinkled his eyes, looks on as if watching children playing. Dean's tongue stuck out for a second before he bared his teeth and ran straight at the man.

But the man was ready, and with an eerily soothing tone, he started to sing.

 _"Ashes, ashes, we all. Fall._ Down."

Rage had given Dean little time to react when the man side-stepped the attack and, instead, grabbed the back of Dean's head and slammed it into the wall behind him. Immediately, the younger man stumbled backward, nursing a cut on his head, before he tripped on his work boots and landed next to Roman, who had started to sit up slowly but was hurting. Immediately, the Samoan was hanging over Dean, then his steel-gray eyes turned dark as he looked back up at the man.

"Bray, you're gonna pay for that."

The man named Bray laughed, tossing his head back. "We aren't finished, Roman," he said through a tune, snapping his fingers as the two large ape-men walked to his side. Bray, as he walked by, made sure to step over Dean's stomach to elicit a groan before he and his friends disappeared.

Now, it was just the two of them.

Roman hunched over Dean, who had a hand pressed to his head, then pulled his hand away to look at the blood that slithered into the cracks in his hands. Blue eyes squeezed shut in a wince, before he looked back up into Roman's eyes, one of which was a little puffy and bruised. "Daaaaaaamn, Roman," he said in a gruff voice, "What did you do to piss him off?"

Gray eyes widened a bit, thin lips parted in a breath, before they angled in a lopsided grin as he slowly got to his feet - those were the words he'd said to Seth when they first met a few days ago; playful banter that had opened the floodgates and made Dean realize that hey, maybe this guy was different. Usually, one of Seth's lackeys would have challenged him to a fight for being so hostile, but not Roman.

His tattooed arm touched Dean's waist lightly as his other hand nursed his stomach. "You know, unlike you, I don't go looking for a fight."

That hadn't exactly answered the smaller man's question, but his head hurt way too much to ask anything more, and Roman was hurting just about everywhere else. Grunting perhaps a little dramatically, blue eyes squinted against the action of sitting up but he did it anyway, looking to the taller Samoan who had his hand reached out for him.

"I resent that."

Dean's blue eyes stared up into Roman's gray, and his cracked hands clasp onto the other's which pack as much heat as the rest of him. With an added groan as he's lifted up, he finds himself staggering against the throbbing in his head and holds his other hand up to cover the wound. When he tugs his hand away from his head and looks at the small dot of blood on his cracked finger, he huffs.

"Aaaaaagh," groans Dean, wiping his other hand on his pants before flashing Roman a wary look. "Don't suppose you got your car parked nearby?"

Roman screws up his eyebrows in confusion before he nods. "Yeah? Around the corner. Why?"

As if it's obvious, the sandy-brown-haired man gestures between Roman's battered body and utters a scoff. "I mean - yer' body looks like you were hit by a train. Least I could do is bring you back to my foster father - 's a doctor, he can help."

Before he has a chance to deny the offer, Roman's being pulled by his hand that's currently locked between the fingers of Dean's, blue eyes scanning the road in front of them before his eyes fall upon the familiar SUV. There's a brief altercation about who is going to drive, but Dean is insistent, seeing past the facade that Roman is trying to make about not being in as much pain as he really is. Dean can see through that bullshit.

(Despite his head throbbing, but he's driven with worse ailments.)

Roman rolls his eyes and, slowly, painfully, hands over the lanyard that has his keys attached to them. With a cheeky look in his eyes, Dean batted baby-blues at the Samoan before he helped him into the passenger seat, taking care to hand him the seat belt before he went over to the driver's seat.

"You're a good driver, right?"

Dean shot the man a look, trying to put him at ease, but silver eyes were completely genuine in their concern. All pouting lips and furrowed brow, blue eyes rolled before he groaned out a _Yes, I'm a good driver_ before putting the key into the ignition. His expression changed, and he whooped "Listen to that purr!" before he gently eased them onto the road and toward his house.

* * *

Shane McMahon was a _good_ father. No matter what Dean said, he was supportive and kind and patient.

You would imagine a parent would convey worry, concern over the fact that his son had dried blood crusted on his forehead and minor bruising around it, or would be stricken with shock to see the young man from the other day hanging over Dean's shoulder looking like he'd had the ass-whooping of his life. When Dean gently puts him on the couch alongside a pajama-wearing Sami, the younger is quick to start asking questions, 'what happened' and 'why are you bleeding'.

Nope. Shane leans forward over the love-seat, hands bracing the top of it and eyes sparkling and lips quirked up.

"So. You gonna introduce us, or...?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean stands up, instructing the larger man to stay put before he went into the kitchen. Sami followed, pressing more questions, his voice a near-whine when all his brother did was gruffly tell him to _stop breakin' my focus._

It was just Shane and Roman.

Walking around the love-seat and crossing to sit next to Roman, the look of curiosity switched to a stern concern. "Alright. What happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened," Dean returns again with a wet cloth in his hand, tongue darting out to lick his lips before he sits on the coffee table right in front of Roman. The cloth he puts over his head, dabbing at the dried blood and wincing when his fingers brush over the slight bruise he's got starting. He curses, Shane gives him a pointed look, and he sighs. "Roman pocket-dialed me an' I heard a crash and ran toward it and some backwater swamp _jackass_ -"

"Dean!"

"-was makin' his friends beat the crap outta him!"

Roman winced as he tried to sit up, arm shooting to cover his ribs, and Shane noted his reaction. "You might have gotten a bruised rib. In any case, you've gotta stay put until tomorrow. I've got some painkillers and a couch with your name on it..."

"Roman Reigns. Just Roman is, agh... fine."

"Well, 'just Roman'," Shane had a little smile on his face, looking at Dean and then back at Roman before standing up just in time for lightning to flash and illuminate the living room. "Hope you don't mind sleeping here tonight."

A multitude of emotions crossed his face all at once - it wasn't like Roman was some kid, he was a grown-ass man who had sustained worse injuries from playing football in high school. But still...

...silver eyes found blue, and while the wet towel was obscuring the left eye, the right remained very expressive: worried, pleading. Sighing mightily, the Samoan nods. "Fine, okay, yeah - I'll be outta here in the morning, because I have to work."

Shane snapped from doctor-mode to dad-mode so quickly it made Dean guffaw. "Oh? Where do you work, Roman?"

His pink lips turned lopsided as if he was trying to remember, before he looked at Shane. "Well, tomorrow I'm a barista at the coffee shop around the corner."

"You have multiple jobs?" Shane asked.

Dean would have slapped his forehead if he wasn't holding a cloth to it.

"For now," Roman answered with an easy smile, remaining conversational. "I'm saving up to get my own place as soon as possible. Get out on my own, y'know? Don't really like to put others out."

Nodding, the older man slides his gaze to the window, at the rain falling down outside, before a loud yawn turns into a tired groan and he stands. "Well, I have to work tomorrow too, bright and early - think you two could keep it down so I can go to bed?"

Dean wasn't sure at _what_ point his cheeks had started burning, but he became aware of it after Shane left and Roman was left looking at him with an amused smile on his face. "Feeling alright? Should you go to bed, too?"

"'m fine," breathes Dean, giving himself a good mental shake, before scooting from the coffee table to the other couch cushion in a dramatic flail of limbs. "Wanna get outta Seth's company that much, huh?"

There was no hiding the humor in his voice before Roman turned on the cushion, focusing the pressure on the harder surface of the arm of the couch, facing Dean with a mirrored expression. "Something like that - I've known him since we were kids, love 'im to death, but I don't like having to rely on other people for anything."

There was a story behind that statement. And while he wasn't necessarily a nosy person, respected other people's privacy when that's all people seemed to do for him - a cool detachment keeps him separated, like a magnet repelling other magnets - he finds himself wondering...

...he drags his thumb against his dry lips, words forming behind his teeth before his tongue darts out to wet his lips and his digit. "Guess that's somethin' we have in common."

That statement does _exactly_ what he imagined it would do, drawing silver to blue, and they look at each other with question marks behind their eyes. Roman's face was more expressive, curious, before he leaned back as if taking in the other fully for the first time. It makes the younger squirm, shifting and switching to biting the skin of his thumb.

The humor huffed out of the Samoan, eyes changing from amused to serious to concerned, his words slow as if to pacify. "You haven't had it very easy, have ya?"

Eye contact broke, but it made an audible sound inside his head, like glass breaking. Thumb dropping into his lap, Dean pulls away the cloth, examining the pink stain before dropping the cloth in his hands, hiding the way his fingers tightened in the towel as words bind around him like chains; he doesn't talk about it, not to the therapist he'd had in middle school, not to the psychiatrist the Helmsley's had hired on his behalf, and _certainly_ not to Sami.

He loved his brother. Don't ever think he doesn't, but ... even some things the walking ball of sunshine didn't need to sully his hands with.

Yet...

"No," Dean said, voice lower than his usual tone, something in his chest constricting as if it didn't want him to say anything else; his hands are tight inside the cloth, the strain in his knuckles something he can almost hear as the words threaten to break free. It had happened before, hadn't it. The words that normally made no effort to squeeze out of their restraints weaseled their way through him when he went to the gym last weekend ... he wasn't sure what was happening here, but blue eyes look up a bit through his bangs.

Stormy eyes are looking at him, patient and kind, and it makes the same heat from earlier rise up his neck to his ears. It was hard to keep his eyes looking, not to let his eyes look back down at the cloth in his hands, before he reaches up to brush his hair out of his face and look at the other head-on.

If he looked at it as a challenge ... maybe it'd be easier?

"Want to talk about it?"

_Fuuuuuck..._

"I don't ... know. Dunno how."

Nodding slowly, Roman leans his arm over the back of the couch - his fingers achingly close to the other's sunken shoulder, perhaps on purpose, but there's no indication that he's going to close the space between them. The warmth from his fingers is something Dean's soul crawls towards, his shoulder raising slightly to let the Samoan's fingers brush against his skin.

"I can start." Roman says, his words careful and light. Dean raises an eyebrow.

Slowly, he says, "Okay..."

With a grin, Roman takes a breath at the same time as Dean exhales, slightly relieved.

"Alright. Ask me anything."

Tongue swiping at his bottom lip in anticipation, Dean picks his thumb back up and nips at it contemplatively. "'kay, um... Where did you grow up?"

A lopsided grin appears on the Samoan's lips. "Pensacola, Florida in a big house, with my mom, dad, and brother. Sometimes my cousins would come over too, and pass out on my bedroom floor." The amusement in his voice makes the other pair of lips grin, as if they were in on an inside joke before he made to say something to him. Roman interrupted him with a laugh, "Nah-ah, you asked your question. 's my turn."

There must have been this little slice of fear in his eyes, because quickly, silver eyes catch blue in a message that reads 'Don't worry', and he listens, shoulders slowly relaxing before he leans against the back of the sofa so that the other's fingers are now fully touching his shoulder.

"Okay," Roman starts, lips still quirked slightly. "How did you meet Mr. McMahon?"

It was possibly the most innocent question he could have asked - could have asked directly about his past or how he got into the system in the first place, but nope. Dean wasn't sure whether to be more skeptical or more curious; _Just how much does he already know?_ Clearing his throat and brushing his bangs out of his eyes, he relishes in the warm fingers on his shoulder and the warmer silver eyes looking him over.

"I was livin' at the Helmsley's and Seth was givin' me some shit, running his mouth and..." the words he remembered Rollins saying were like poison, rotting him from the inside out and he wasn't even the least bit sorry for what happened afterward. "...and he said some really _stupid_ shit and it made me _so fucking mad._ " The fingers on his shoulder applied a bit more pressure, grounding him, keeping him there on the couch with him and not in the memory and for that, Dean is internally grateful. "I guess... I don't really remember anything before being dragged off by Shane, but Seth was bleeding out his nose and his eyes were really big, like he didn't expect it."

Roman nods his head in complete understanding, opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it.

"How did you meet Seth?"

Nodding his head again, though in a way that conveys _I was wondering when you'd ask me that_ , Roman goes on and on about how they met while his father - who he learns is a businessman just as powerful as Hunter Helmsley but more likable - was in town for a conference with Hunter and Roman was allowed to come along. It was good for the sons to have gotten along, 'good for business' he'd heard Hunter say, and since then they had been almost like brothers.

They talk right through the storm, and an hour later when Dean is in bed and reaching over to flick his light off, his phone buzzes to life and the little smile on his face is impossible to refuse when the digital letters stare up at him and imprint themselves in his brain.

**Night, D**


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter behind. Then I won't have to play catch-up! I meant to get this chapter up yesterday but got distracted - not that anybody cares or doesn't in any case - and the next one will be up either later tonight or tomorrow. Thanks for reading!

The next day is slow, perhaps in regards to how the past few days have been going, but there's a different kind of air around Dean as he carries himself through a lazy Wednesday; true to his word, Roman had left before the light-haired could pull himself from his covers, not leaving a trace that he was there at all with how neat he had left the sofa and the blanket folded over the love-seat. He wondered if it was real, though the red mark on his head from that offending brick wall proved that it had happened after all.

His footsteps were lighter today.

He works that day, too, but when his shift is over in the afternoon, there's no Tall, Dark and Handsome around anywhere; for some reason, Dean is disappointed, and the only place it shows is in his sunken shoulders before he's starting his trek home.

Passing the alleyway they were royally beaten up in, he tries to find answers to his unasked questions in the disturbed dirt and faded brick wall glaring back at him; who the hell was 'Bray'? Did Roman _actually_ do something to piss him off, or is Bray as much a lunatic as people claim he is?

Shaking his head, he figured he could wait until tomorrow to ask, but it appeared a weird sort of fate was on his side lately as he bumps into a thinner body, dark and light hair spinning as the frustrated noises sound from behind him.

"Ambrose, ya' mind?"

"Rolli- wait."

Seth had turned back around to stomp back haughtily in the direction he was going, but the soft 'wait' had made him pause and fix the other with a questioning glare. Dean pushes forward, eyes resting on the brick wall opposite him for a second longer before blue meets brown; he wasn't sure if Seth _knew_ about this 'Bray' character, if he _wanted_ him to know, as it was now both Roman's _and Dean's_ business. However, maybe he knew more about it than the Samoan was willing to tell him.

"You know a guy named Bray?"

Seth's nose wrinkles. "Bray Wyatt?"

"Gross beard, Southern-drawl, creepy singing?"

A full scowl, and a shudder passes over the lither young man. "Yup - he messin' with you or something?"

 _Not just me_ he wants to say, wants to convey that he hadn't gotten the worst of it, but he's not sure how Roman would feel about bringing people into his battles - more than he'd begrudgingly done so with Dean. Instead of answering, he turns it around, asking a new question that makes the other's hackles rise. "He messed with you?"

There's an air of discomfort, as if Seth didn't want to talk about it, before he grabs Dean by the arm and starts walking back in the direction the latter had been walking to, toward home. When he gets over the initial shock of being led back on the path by someone who actually despised him - though, lately, he'd been a bit more tolerable - he digs his hands in his jeans pockets, keeping eyes trained on the sidewalk ahead of him.

Seth's voice is low.

"He's tried to tangle with me and Rome. After you went with Shane, Bray moved in next door and started to get real friendly with Roman." For some reason, just the thought makes a ring of red tinge the outside of his vision, but the only noticeable change in his features is how tight his jaw is right now. "Kinda got obsessed, especially when I wasn't there to pull him away, but Roman told me that he tried to get all handsy with him and-"

"That _motherfucker._ "

It escaped his mouth before he had the chance to stop it, and Seth didn't even react in the way one would expect him to. He turned angry, too, but it was a different kind of angry... Or, maybe it was the same?

"That's what I said!" yelled brown-and-blond, "But Rome told me he let him down easy, real nice-like, like the rest of what he does and Bray didn't wanna hear any of it. He became obsessed with Rome and every time they saw each other, Bray would either try to press him against a wall or he'd have his two brothers handle him." Realization dawns on Seth before he grabs Dean's wrist, not caring about the little snarl that leaves his lips before he pushes him against the wall.

"That fucking mark on your head. Bray did that!"

"Get your fucking ha-"

"That's the only fucking reason you'd bring it up! So, he did mess with you! And he wouldn't have bothered with you unless..." a flash of something Dean can't distinguish flashes behind chocolate-brown eyes, but anybody else might be able to tell what it was. "...you were with Roman yesterday?"

He's not sure why, but he squirms and tries to pull Seth's grip off of his wrist. "So what if I was? I don't need permission to hang out with someone, _okay?_ "

That only pisses off the other more, and the grip on his wrist tightens before he practically throws him aside. "Don't try to dig yer' claws into him, he doesn't want you the way you want him."

"I don't want-"

_Bullshit!_

...Dean's not sure if he thought that, or if Seth said it, and even after their argument ends in red faces and sweat lining his hairline, he still isn't sure.

* * *

"He's nice."

"This can't be happening..."

"I like him."

" _Shaaaaaaaane._ "

"What? I can't say I like him?"

Dragging a hand down his face, Dean tries to pointedly ignore the big-eyed look his foster father is giving him and the little snickers Sami isn't trying very hard to hide from beside him. It wasn't the first time he'd voiced such a thing out loud, but he was pretty sure it never got any easier to hear it, even if something inside him was really, _really_ glad he was; he hadn't ever had any interesting in anybody - not that he had _any_ interest in Roman, don't be stupid! - but he _especially_ hadn't ever heard his foster father voice his approval about anybody he usually was around.

(In middle school, when he started hanging out with a toxic crowd, he voiced his severe displeasure and threatened that he'd have to stay back a year when his grades started to slip.)

(Sophomore year, he goes to a party with some friends and ends up getting _wasted_. Not only was he grounded, but he was sick the whole weekend, in addition to hearing from Shane that 'this wouldn't have happened if he hadn't gone against him in the first place'.)

(Junior year prom night; goes camping with Sami, Kevin and some other friends, someone brings alcohol and a park ranger catches them all. When Shane gets a phone call from the local police station and has to pick up Sami _and_ Dean, the latter with a sneer on his face as one of the officers says that the drunken boy had assaulted him, resisted arrest, _and_ nearly busted Kevin's head open when he shoved him in a drunken rage, knocking him into a cop.)

But the fact of the matter was, he wasn't _used_ to praise, wasn't used to Shane liking something he did, and now the embarrassment was creeping up his spine and settling on his face in the form of a nice, rosy, hot flush.

From beside him, Sami utters a quiet "Dean and Roman sitting in a tr- OW!"

"Dean, don't punch your brother."

"K-I-S-S-I-N- _OW!_ "

"No kicking, either!"

* * *

The moon casts a silver glow into his bedroom by the time Dean walks back in from his nighttime shower, hair dripping wet down his shirtless back and shoulders; it hadn't even really dawned on him that tomorrow was the day he and Roman had made plans to go get his - Sami's - car, and by 'hadn't dawned on him', I actually mean _he was growing more and more aware that tomorrow was Thursday._

AKA, his unofficially-official date with Roman Reigns.

AKA, his first unofficially-official date with _anybody, ever._

All but throwing himself on his bed in a dramatic flop of limbs, blue eyes stare at his ceiling, a slight bubble of anxiety resting snugly against his ribs - making it nearly impossible to breathe in and out without a little hitch, a little hiccup in his throat; the first time he realized that it wasn't only _girls_ who ... 'tickled his fancy', it had scared him. Apparently it'd been that way all his life, little-kid Dean having little flirtations with both male _and_ female classmates as well as teenage Dean finding himself taking cold showers almost every day in the locker room because of his damned hormones on overdrive.

A lot of his emotions had _always_ been on overdrive, though, so he didn't bring any attention to it at first. Not until he'd had a rather particular dream about a heavy weight on top of him and a _dick_ in his...

Shaking his head in a rather aggressive display, Dean ignored the twitch between his legs and sat up, his loose sweatpants hiding the evidence of where his thoughts had taken him quite effectively.

_"He doesn't want you the way you want him!"_

Eyebrows furrowed in a sudden annoyance, remembering Seth's words from earlier that day - he hadn't really considered that maybe, _maybe_ , there was something else buried in the heat that rose between them when blue met silver, but now that the words were said ... wasn't that _exactly_ what it was? They hadn't known each other for even a week, but there was something... _there_. Dean didn't get all Feelings and mushy and emotional. But... but there was no denying the way Roman looked at him made the shadows retreat, just a little bit, enough...

 _Shut up_ Dean said to himself, giving his head another shake to chase away the little shimmer of _something_ behind his eyes. Beside him, his phone starts to ring, and he looks at it as if it had interrupted a very important conversation before reaching over, leaning back against the headboard with legs splayed out.

**You want to get breakfast tomorrow?**

A little grin pulls his lips up, before he punches back:

_not expecting me to drag my ass out before 10, are you?_

It takes moments after he presses send, long enough for him to breathe a sigh as the end of a rather peculiar day creeps in and lets him be as weary and rag-doll as he liked, for the response to return; Roman _always_ texted back quickly. It makes that little smile return.

**You wouldn't for me? ;)**

Cue the red-hot stain to his cheeks.

_depends on your offer, pretty boy._

Was that stepping over a line? Crossing some barrier they still had set between them, keeping them just out of each other's reach?

This response is faster than the last one, making Dean's stomach swirl with something weird and anticipating and suddenly he's thanking the creator of sweatpants once again.

**Coffee and donuts?**

_that all you got to offer?_

It wouldn't have taken much - already, Dean was scrolling through his applications in-between texts and pressing his thumb against the clock widget, preparing to set an early alarm for another shower - in the way of convincing when it came to the Samoan. Not with... not with how he...

**What you want, baby boy?**

B...

_Ba..._

...oh, look at that. His sweatpants were no match for the effect that affectionate nickname had on him, and with a little groan, he punches back his reply with just a little too much force.

_just come over at 9 with that damn coffee._

The messages slow down after that, but Dean's almost sure Roman's laughing by how exasperated he sounded. Wouldn't surprise him any.

**See you then, D**

And Dean would _swear_ that Roman was pressed up to him the entire night with how _hot_ his body felt, even going so far as to open his window sometime during the night to let the cooler night breeze be sucked inside. Body be _damned_ , he was going to get some damn sleep tonight.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, now we're all caught up! Don't have much else to say other than thanks for stickin' with me so far! This is part one of their little date-thing.

" _You're_ the one who told me 9." The amusement in Roman's voice was possibly the most annoying thing he had ever heard as Dean pulled himself out of the house with hair disheveled and wet and eyes already partly closed against the morning sun; the Samoan had been on time, nine o'clock just like Dean had told him last night... showing up to his house in a fitted tee shirt and pair of jeans, looking every bit Tall, Dark and Handsome that he was, the bastard.

In his hand, he'd held a paper holder with two cups of coffee pressed into it, a bright little grin on his face as if he was every bit the morning person that Sami was. When Dean answered the door that morning in his faded jeans, short-sleeved shirt and leather jacket, he had plucked his coffee out, not bothering to make eye-contact or even acknowledge him until about half of the coffee was gone.

They had been on the road for about ten minutes, driving at a more leisurely pace than Dean had the first time he'd driven in the direction they were headed; if he had driven the speed limit that day, it would have taken between forty-five minutes to an hour, traffic permitting. As it was morning, there was heavier traffic as people made their way to work.

Not that he would do a serious job of complaining - he would be lying if he said he didn't like to be in the company of Roman.

The low buzz of the radio was dutifully ignored as the two exchanged quiet banter, Dean complaining about how tired he was and Roman biting back that it was _his_ idea in the first place. "We made plans for noon, remember?" the laugh was laced with the question, making blue eyes slide in a hilarious display of melodramatic frustration, added growl only adding to the other's amusement, it seemed. "Or, _I_ tried to. But no, you're just as impatient as I am."

_Just as impatient as I am._

_"He doesn't want you like you want him!"_

Liar...

Dean's gaze slid away from the Samoan, taking a drink of the coffee that was in his hand and blinking down at the cup, as if he was seeing it for the first time. Maybe he was. "How did you know how I like my coffee?"

A little flash of something akin to relief swam over Roman's face before he reached over to grab his own cup and take a swig of the still-hot coffee. "I'd tell you ... but then I'd have to kill you."

Barking a laugh, Dean swatted at Roman's arm. "Like you could."

The only reply was a loud slurp of his coffee, but blue tried to catch silver for an answer. When none came, even after the younger leans forward just enough to try to look into his eyes directly, the Samoan suddenly has to stop at a crosswalk to let some young couple walk across, the female waving at them in thanks before she presses herself right up against her man.

Dean suddenly feels lonely despite the friend he was sitting next to.

He misses the look Roman gives him before he continues to drive.

* * *

"Alright, you're being really quiet."

...

"Did I piss you off or something?"

Still nothing.

Turning the radio up a tiny bit when he realizes he's not going to get an answer, Roman steals a peek... only to see that Dean had, sometime in the last five minutes, drifted off to sleep, chin propped up in a near-lax left palm as his other hangs loose in his lap. His hair, dried and curled slightly against his forehead, hid his eyes from the other just enough, but it didn't matter.

He could tell they were relaxed, maybe even content. The smile didn't falter as he hummed along with the static buzz of the radio, but he _did_ almost stomp on the brake when he felt a hand collect on his arm and fingers grip loosely onto his skin near his shirt sleeve, bitten-down nails scraping slightly against his warm skin.

* * *

"Dude, I'm hungry."

Roman looked away from the road for barely a second, shuffling around the pocket behind Dean's seat to grab a handful of brochures for different local restaurants. Tossing them in Dean's lap, he couldn't fight the little smirk that took rest on his face, eyes gluing right back onto the road as he turned a corner; they had made it onto open road, a direct route to the hospital, and were practically the only ones out and about today.

"Take your pick - we'll stop afterwards and get some food."

Pursing his lips, the light-brunet looks down at the folded ads in his hands before picking them up to shift through them: a sandwich shop, a diner, a seafood place... pizza parlor and take-out...? Looking between the driver and the paper in his hands, Dean snorts before pulling out the take-out brochure and stuffing the rest under his thigh.

"Could do take-out," he says, tone light but with its usual gravel-laced depth. Eyes tracing over the words and wincing at the prices, he pats against his jacket pocket and sighs in relief when he realizes he'd brought his wallet, before looking to Roman expectantly. "Haven't had Chinese food in a while."

"Sounds about right," Roman rumbles, the large hospital just noticeable around the corner before he sighs, but more to himself. Their journey was almost over, but it wasn't like he expected their _date_ to be. Was it actually a date? Roman couldn't admit to being on too many to be able to tell the difference. "We can stop on the way back, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Moments later finds them in the hospital parking lot, parking right in front. Getting out in a quick array of dark colors, Dean stretches his body out, leaning back and bending down and emitting a little roar when he sees the amused raised eyebrow of Roman, to which he stretches his arms _extra high_ so that his shirt rides up _just a little bit_ , displaying part of his flat, pale stomach.

Tongue darting out of Roman's mouth, Dean slips that into his repertoire for later.

He had parked closer to the middle of the parking lot, and when he sees the familiar black exterior of the car still waiting there, as if no time had passed since he had left it there, a little "Ha _ha!_ " escapes him before he runs toward it ... then suddenly, he stops.

Footsteps join him, slower, more like they're taking a leisurely stroll before...

"That motherfucker is fucking dead."

The entire back of it was bent and dented, scratched like a giant bear had mauled it, throwing itself into it and scraping its claws up and down the black paint job. The right headlight was smashed, glass splayed underneath and on the rear bumper, and there was something leaking from the back of the vehicle.

Somebody put this car through hell and Dean knew exactly who did.

"Did..."

"Yup."

Walking around the rest of the car, Dean concluded that the front tires had also been slashed, and on the inside was what was left of Sami's ruined suitcase, shredded clothes splayed all alongside the back seat, smelling of murky pond water, one of which he recognized as _his_ graphic tee shirts he had let Sami borrow one day, and that one seemed to be dotted with something stained at the collar.

His blood was boiling.

"Kevin Owens is fucking dead."

* * *

_"So... I won't be getting my car back?"_

There was a slight tinge to Sami's voice, just barely recognizable to Dean, that signaled he wasn't totally unhappy with that news. Wrinkling his nose as he places his hand on top of the car, leaning his head inside the window and takes note of the damaged clothes lying all over the back seat and floor. "'fraid not, kid. Not today, anyway. Can't even get it driving because the tires have been slashed."

A long sigh echoed on the other side... then:

_"Do you... think that, um..."_

"Yeah," Dean interrupted, pushing away from the car and glancing at Roman, who was on his cell phone talking to his mechanic - some guy nicknamed 'Swiss Superman', or at least that's what the Samoan said through chuckles that made Dean's stomach do weird flips - before he leaned on the door, fingers tapping noiselessly on his collarbone. "I'll get 'em, bro. Been itchin' to get my hands on him for _years._ "

_"I know, but..."_

The two continued to talk, trading back-and-forths for almost ten more minutes before Roman started to walk back to him, and Dean utters a sigh.

"I'm gonna go, Sam. Hopefully I'll be back before supper, depending on the damage and cost. Want me to bring you anything?"

_"Mm... no. Just text me when you're on your way."_

"Right-o, Sami. Bye."

He hung up at the same time as Roman reached his side, running his hand through his hair he had, sometime during the time he looked away and now, taken out of the ponytail it had previously been in. Loose dark-dark-brown curled over his shoulders and down his bicep, and Dean felt his lips part in a breath, mouth drying before his tongue licked at his bottom lip before turning away, fishing as much clothes as could be salvaged from the back seat and stuffing it under his arm: two shirts narrowly escaped being torn, a pair of cargo shorts and a sock.

_Where did the other one go...?_

...

Y'know, Dean didn't actually want to know the answer to that one, and conveyed as much with a melodramatic shudder before headed back in the direction of Roman's car, putting the clothing on the passenger's seat before he heard Roman's footsteps nearby.

"So, Cesaro said he'll be here in about half an hour," said through a breath, and it makes Dean pout only slightly - this isn't how he envisioned this going, but he couldn't exactly find his complaints to be more than half-assed. "There's a sandwich shop up the road a little ways, at the gas station we passed out that way-" he points back in the direction they had come from, making Dean look in that direction as if he hadn't noticed there even _was_ a 'behind them'. "-want me to go get us some food?"

The _I'll come with you_ died on his tongue; it could be as near as Roman claimed, but he had to stay with the car. There was no way around that. Huffing a sigh that sounded just a bit more genuine this time, he scratches idly at the slight scruff on his chin, nodding his head slightly. "Yeah, sure, I guess."

He rattled off what he wanted and waved in a lazy display as Roman's SUV disappeared down the road, and in a feeble attempt to escape the heat, he made haste toward his car and pulled his keys out of his pocket - the ones he had just barely remembered to stash in his other jacket pocket before he left. Turning the air conditioning on and cracking the windows a little to air out the heat, he leans his head back and breathes _1... 2... 3._

All in all ... it could have been worse.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap. Over 400 hits?? UM?  
> (-internal howling-)
> 
> Anyway, I felt like uploading this early, because honestly it's burning me up inside, and what's a day, anyway. I got impatient I guess. 
> 
> I don't even have anything snarky to say. LET'S A-GO.

_What you want, baby boy?_

It wasn't what would have made the most of his time by himself, but Dean couldn't help but scroll through the message thread he and Roman had; it was the longest he had on his phone, perhaps the most meaningful one too: words of friendship and humor and a healthy dash of flirting.

Usually, it was Roman that initiated the more flirtatious messages, but he had answered them in earnest, never going past the point of his own discomfort; Dean wasn't an affectionate person, not by any means, and didn't pretend to feel joy from watching others express themselves in such a manner. After all, he was a stranger to it - his only friends being callous words and broken promises and  _lies._ Yet--

-it seemed natural ... somehow.

Without realizing it, his heart had opened up to Roman. In little ways; ways that nobody else would have been able to recognize ... that  _he_ hadn't been able to recognize. 

 _At first._ But now...

Locking his screen and shoving his phone into his jacket pocket, blue eyes slid over to the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the black SUV he had watched disappear what seemed like ages ago and failing at hiding the disappointment as he sagged against the driver's seat when no such vehicle emerged around the corner.

Scrunching up his mouth before taking the key out of the ignition, he makes to get out of the car before his eyes catch sight of a bright red sports car driving toward him, pulling into the parking lot. A reflection off of sunglasses makes him wince slightly before he steps out as the car parks in a place a few spots away. Stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets - it's a wonder he's not more uncomfortable, but the thing was practically second skin at this point - he pads over in time to greet the bald head and sunglasses hiding dark, but friendly eyes. 

"I'm Antonio Cesaro," the man says with a smooth Swiss accent, holding his hand out toward Dean, who flinches. Sensing the distress, Cesaro takes no offense and simply side-steps the other until he's looking at the damage to the car, and he tuts softly with a frown tugging his mouth down. "What happened? She looks awful--"

"She?" Dean rumbles, confused, before the mechanic waves a hand coolly motions for the car.  _The car._ Right. 'She' was the car. 

"--got beat up, from what I can tell," drones Dean, blue eyes sliding behind him to once more look at the car his brother had dearly liked, as reckless a driver as he was. "Just got here before Roman called you."

"Ah." The older man walks back to the sports car and pulls out a gray toolbox, stuffing a rag into his back pocket, before walking back in the direction of the car, resting his hand over the hot exterior as if to apologize on behalf of its - her? - attacker. Pursing his lips, Dean looks away, as if avoiding an intimate act. 

Dean was  _not_ an affectionate person.

* * *

By the time that familiar black SUV pulls back into the parking lot with a waving Roman in the driver's seat, Dean is pretty sure he would have resorted to chewing his arm off, and when the Samoan comes into view with a big paper bag smelling of warmed deli meat, he's pretty sure the sound he makes is a little undignified. 

He's handed his warm sandwich - Philly-cheese-steak, roasted peppers, caramelized onions - a bag of chips, and a Pepsi. After grabbing his own, Roman walks around to the passenger's seat and stuffs the clothes Dean had precariously dropped onto the seat inside the bag.

" _Buon appetito,_ " he says, in an obviously- _not_ Italian accent, and Dean rolls his eyes before seeing the Samoan open the large trunk and sits on the inside, a blanket stretched over the floor. Joining him, he opens his sandwich from its paper wrapper and the pair fall into a comfortable silence. 

Well ... as comfortable as one could be with thoughts of varying magnitudes swimming through the younger's head. 

_What you want, baby boy?_

_"He doesn't want you the way you want him!"_

Bull. Fucking. Shit.

A knobby elbow pushes into his arm, knocking him out of his own head almost too abruptly as he jumps in his spot and narrowly avoids smacking the top of his head on the ceiling of the car if not for the hand that quickly puts itself in its path, and he looks over with wide blue eyes and a string of caramelized onion sticking out of the corner of his mouth. 

Roman laughs before guiding back down, letting his fingers linger on the top of his head longer than he probably should have before his lips quirk up in a little bit of a smirk. "You still with me, D?"

Blinking owlishly up at Roman, the other nods a bit too quickly, before he watches gray eyes flick to his mouth for a second. Then, longer than a second, before he's leaning forward, too slow but also too fast and it makes his breath catch in his throat.

And he stops, just barely letting their noses touch ... before his teeth catch onto the piece of onion and pulls it out of the other's mouth with a triumphant glow to his gray eyes. 

And Dean fucking ... he fucking  _whines_ in the back of his throat before it quickly gives way into a growl. 

"If I'm not interrupting..." an accented voice breaks the moment, making blue eyes find those kind eyes once more, and he  _must_ have looked mad because Cesaro's hands are up in defense, an apologetic look written all over his face. "Sorry, sorry - I just have your estimates. The damage isn't as bad as it looks, mostly cosmetic except for the tires and leak underneath, there." Handing over a slip of paper to Dean, who takes it, he nods his head as if urging them to continue what he'd interrupted. 

As Cesaro walks back in the direction he came, Dean looks down at the paper and blows a puff of air at the inked numbers etched on the line. 

Well ... it was a relief there was no lasting damage, anyway. 

"That's a lot better news," Roman says to him softly, leaning over to look at the paper also, his shoulder knocking into Dean's and bringing that stupid warmth with it.  _Whoever gives him the right to walk around being that warm should be arrested._ Folding the paper in his hand and stuffing it inside an inner pocket of his jacket, he slides it off his shoulders and tosses it behind him jumping out of the back of the SUV. 

"Better, but not the best news. Still gonna be without a car for a while."

It's a one-shoulder shrug, but he shrugs nonetheless before rolling his shoulders and neck in an attempt to free his body of the warmth from just a moment ago. Didn't work, but it was an A for effort. When he looks back at Roman, gray eyes are watching the roll of his body, the muscle pressing against his fairer skin, and he suddenly feels bare-naked. 

The flush is totally because of the afternoon heat, so just shut the  _hell_ up.

* * *

They didn't leave the parking lot for another hour, having to wait for a tow truck to get the car and bring it to Cesaro's auto-mechanic stop. It wasn't that big a deal - the fact that it was welcome company full of comfortable conversation and whatever was playing on Roman's radio made it much more bearable - but by the time the cars were gone and it was just the two of them in the parking lot, Dean's had enough of this scene. 

"So, you wanna go back to your house?" Roman asked, his tone just a bit on the forcibly innocent side, not that Dean was paying too much attention as he settles himself back into the passenger's seat for the ride back to town. Still, he could feel something akin to disappointment glaring at him, making him want to sink into a hole somewhere, such a bitter coldness that was only rivaled by the hand placed on the back of his seat as the Samoan made to turn the SUV around and get out of the parking lot. 

For some reason, he absolutely does  _not_ want to go home yet - he'd have good company in Sami, it wasn't like he didn't like being there - but he didn't exactly have any other plans or errands to run. As it stood, Roman was the only closer-to-friend-than-nothing he had. Could he say no and not have a reason why? He made a show of scrunching his lips in an odd shape, contemplating, wondering if he could get away with robbing some more of Roman's time. 

"You have anything else you wanna do?"

That was the safest answer he could give.

Apparently, that's not what the Samoan wanted to hear, because his mouth pulls into a frown before he turns back onto the main road.

"'s your day off," Roman's voice was lower as he said that, making light-and-blue turn his head slightly to fix him with a proper questioning look. Gray glanced at him quickly before sticking back on the road. "You start school again soon - got anything you wanna do before you go back?"

It felt weird - hearing Roman say 'you start school' as if they weren't the same age, give or take a few months in between them, but because of Dean having to stay back a year and essentially start his senior year from scratch ... it was just weird to hear, was all. But it was one of the many things they had talked about in their late-night text-scapades.

Dean gave it a good mull-over; there was a  _plethora_ of things he wanted to do, but none of them seemed to want to make it out from behind his pursed lips, plumped just slightly in a pout. This was supposed to be a date ... yet the only thing they'd done together that didn't involve swearing at  _Kevin-fucking-Owens_ or driving was ... well, practically nothing. 

"I, um..." Dean isn't sure how to ask what he wanted to, even if there were many different version of the same thing singing in his mind:  _You wanna go to a movie?_ Or,  _Wanna go work out?_ Or even,  _We could just walk around town, look around, cause some trouble--_

The words never get a chance to leave his mouth. Not for the entire hour-long drive back.

* * *

There were more cars parked up the sides of town than there were the last time he'd been here, but Dean didn't find himself complaining -  _he_ might not have been able to voice his interest in spending more time with Roman, but as the silence had stretched on, the latter had made it abundantly clear that he still wanted to spend time with Dean, too. 

A foreign, but not unwelcome phenomenon. 

A constant when it came to one Roman Reigns. 

They parked close to the park and had decided to spend a little while enjoying nature. They stopped at an ice cream vendor, Roman insisting on paying for both of their cones and Dean offering weak complaining about wanting to pay for his own. A little huff was all he offered afterwards, but Roman more-than makes up for it when, after they've finished and have discarded their trash, he takes the younger by the hand. 

Walking with his hand in Roman's was probably the most stabilizing thing he had ever experienced, and that wasn't even considering the warmth; he had held someone's hand before, all for different reasons, but none had ever left him feeling quite so...

...so  _safe_.

Dean wasn't a touchy-feely person, didn't like unnecessary affection when it wasn't called for (or even if it was) unless he either initiated the contact, or  _really_ trusted the person. Perhaps he was numb to the signals he was sending, or perhaps he was beginning to trust the living, breathing furnace whose heat seemed to cling to him. In the short span of six days, Roman's dug himself into his heart and just ... decided to stay, to root himself a permanent place and letting his warmth and light chase away the shadows in Dean's mind.

Ugh ... when had that voice in his head turned into such a damned  _sap_?

Still, their hands remained clasped, fingers laced together as Roman rattles on about how beautiful the town was, not nearly as crowded as his 'little beach town' of Pensacola. Dean even offered his own word or two, filling the spaces between the former's cheerful chatter with his own mindless babble, but they would fall into quiet once more. 

And inside his head, it's  _never_ been this calm.

* * *

"Here we are."

Blue eyes slid over the windshield to glance idly at the front of his house, a little sigh escaping him that sounded vaguely like a mix of exhaustion and disdain; it was nearly four o'clock, the two spending a greater deal of the day inside Roman's SUV, but the younger couldn't exactly complain. Sitting still was hard, after all, but what made it more bearable was the promise of something secret, something unfamiliar bubbling in his stomach. 

"Yup," Dean says absentmindedly, making a too-slow show of getting out of the passenger's seat when the car's parked to a stop in front of the house. Roman follows, watching as the light-haired grabs the paper bag that held Sami's clothes and walked around the front of the car. 

He was a little surprised that Roman was walking him up the walkway this time, hands stuffed in his pockets and a light grin on his face. 

"Had a good time with you today," he says, Roman does, a hint of a smirk turning that grin into something a little less innocent. It made Dean look up slightly to catch his gaze before a little smile of his own appears on his face - dimples and teeth. 

"Even though I was a jackass this morning?"

" _Especially_ because you were a jackass this morning."

Elbowing him in the ribs, Dean let out a little laugh, short and breathy, before they walked up the stairs. Roman's rumbling laughter was deeper but no less cheerful, before they stopped in front of the door, standing face to face... Dean's fingers toying with his other hand as he began to fidget, rocking back and forth on his feet, not sure what to do. 

A little hum escapes Roman before he cupped the other's face in both os his hands, bringing his head up to look at him. Blue eyes widened slightly, wavering a little, the nerves making any words stick in his throat and nearly stop him from breathing. 

"Can I see you again soon? Take you on a  _real_ date?"

Color blooms on his face, but Dean doesn't care. And if Roman did, he didn't say anything.

A slow nod left the Samoan smiling wide before he dipped his face close and...

...

finished that  _fucking_ kiss from earlier, a good few seconds press of lips before something else took over and their heads angle slightly - Dean to the left, Roman slightly to the right - and lips moved against each other in a slow burn of a kiss.

Roman broke their kiss short first, staring into closed eyes before he breathes over Dean's nose and presses their foreheads together. 

"Later, Dean."

Watching Roman as he leaves the space in front of him and walked in the direction of his SUV, blue eye open a little more, blue boring into gray one final time before the Samoan disappears behind his driver's door. 

The taste of his lips lingers after he drives away, but fades by the time Sami has finished cooking their dinner. It isn't until that nightly goodnight text that it returns, with a  _vengeance_ and stains his face red again.

**Night, D**

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally didn't almost forget to update this today. Totally not.   
> The feedback from last chapter was amazing, thank you everyone for the comments! 
> 
> A fair warning: some feels are headed your way. Also, more Sami and Dean moments.

The days blend together in some weird concoction of confused and amazed and frustrated; the rest of the week through the weekend, Dean has the displeasure of working in a haze, nearly dropping multiple pallets of material before he can load it into a truck to take to a site somewhere in the next town, and narrowly avoiding getting talked to by Mick, his burly and bushy-beard-having boss. 

He's  _frustrated._

All his life, people had tried to drill it into his skull that he wasn't  _good enough_ to be on the baseball team; couldn't  _handle_ the responsibility of taking the class pet home; was a  _screw-up_ like his father and  _lousy_ like his mother ... he cried in his closet until his eyes were red and puffy and his face was tight with lips that were thick and bloody from teeth that tried to take the attention away from the thick streams of emotion running down his face. 

But...

He was  _... amazed._

Every night, he had spent the evenings in his room, hiding away bottles of liquor and dirty magazines and cigarette butts under his bed. Before living with Shane McMahon and Sami Zayn, he had been alone, no real friends, never given a chance so he  _stopped trying_ and gave others reasons to doubt, to hate and fear... didn't give anybody a chance to get close so they  _stopped trying_ and he didn't  _care..._

But ... but  _Roman..._

He was  **confused.**

Roman Reigns - some friend of Scumbag Rollins with a heart of fucking  _gold_ and a no-right-being-there-around-him smile on his face, giving him this warm, thick feeling in his stomach that swirled and made him sick and just fine all at once. He had  _no right_ to give him this false hope, this false pretense, that he was different and that he could be  _trusted_ and...

But Dean didn't just fall asleep in front of people. Had never been the type to just let his guard down, the one he'd built around himself over years of neglect and misplaced judgment, in front of  _anybody_ , not even the family he now could call his own. But there was a ... a warmth, a safe little feeling whenever he was with Roman, shielding him from the dark, cruel world that had nearly swallowed him alive. 

He was confused. So,  _so_ confused.

Because he was starting to  _fucking recognize it._

And...

...it fucking  **scared** him.

* * *

**Hey D, wanna see a movie?**

For almost ten minutes, blue eyes stared down at the text, the letters forming words that looked like some foreign language to him at first, and only when it was Sami's voice asking, concerned, "You alright, bro?" did he realize he hadn't done anything other than stare. 

Nodding to Sami, he looked up slightly, bottom lip caught in his teeth as he fought the urge to shove the screen into his brother's face, instead squeezing the device between his fingers. 

For the past couple of days, any attempt Roman had made to try to contact him had been - wrongfully - brushed off. Not that he was mad, far from it actually, but there was definitely _some_ sort of emotion runing through him, taking control and making the edges of his vision blur. He had texted him on several occasions, but whenever it got affectionate, he shut off his screen and hid in his little world, trying to calm down his racing heart. 

That kiss ... it fucked him up something  _weird._

It wasn't his first kiss, but it was the first that wasn't laced with something temporary. In the past, if his lips were ever pressed to someone else's, there was no tenderness, only teeth and bruised skin and  _take, take, take._ This one, his short kiss with Roman, it filled him with something else, probably that same fucking warmth that embodied the other, swam in his veins and on the surface of him too. 

It had been a simple press, no ill intentions or rough tugs. 

Something so soft. 

Dean Ambrose didn't  _do_ soft.

Remember: Dean wasn't an affectionate person.

Figuring he couldn't avoid him forever, and secretly not wanting to either, the brunet punches back his response. 

_what you have in mind?_

Sami, laying all bunched up on the love seat, sits up slightly and tosses Dean a little look. The way he's holding his phone, in some sort of vice grip with teeth biting the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything, making any sort of noise above a sigh, has him feeling slightly curious and he gets up from his spot and pads over to the couch, where Dean is curled up with his knees pulled up to his chest. 

The ginger taps expectant fingers on the back of the couch, hoping the brunet can somehow read his mind. 

"Want to talk about it?"

_Yes._

"Nah."

Why did he always do that?

Instead of pushing, in classic Sami fashion, the younger brother pressed himself into Dean's side, leaning his head heavily on the other's shoulder even if there were quiet protests to  _get off_. Dean makes no move to shove him away, though, so the younger makes himself comfortable before muttering something. 

Dean doesn't hear it, not completely.

"What?"

Sami gulps, his shoulders tensed up. "Wanna know why Kevin attacked me?"

Blue eyes widened, body straightening and he practically throws his phone onto the coffee table in order to sit his brother up and spin him so they're sitting face to face. "You know I do." His voice is lower, protective, a rage he had kept at bay long enough to enjoy himself a little returning with a vengeance and darkening his eyes. 

"I, um..."

" _Sami._ Don't wuss out on me. You brought it up, remember?"

"Right, right - um ... I sorta ...  _kinda_ ... told him that I loved him.

* * *

Three things seemed to happen all at once.

Dean's body shifted - a shock that was seen as much as felt, as much as heard. Eyes grew wide, lips parted in an  _o_ and he sucked in air in a long, slow, painful manner. 

_Sami..._

The latter's eyes watered, emotion that had remained hidden behind this false confidence and sunny disposition finally breaking free and choking him as he tries to breathe. His bottom lip quivers, teeth trying to still it but Dean reaches up and cups his face and he's  _gone_ after that.

Sami dives into his brother's arms, only a little surprised when Dean's arms shoot around him simultaneously.

_...his own best friend..._

From its spot on the coffee table, a resounding vibration is the only sound in the room, save Sami's watery sniffles and Dean's exhales of  _it's okay, buddy_ and  _I gotcha_. It goes unheard through the moment, the person he had been talking to momentarily forgotten as Dean tries to get a handle on the information that had been provided to him. 

Only when things settle down almost an hour later, Dean sending Sami to take a shower, is it that he reaches over and has to wipe at the corner of his eyes - perhaps on impulse, or perhaps the slight moistness settled there isn't just his imagination - before his eyes focus back on the screen.

**Date #2?**

As it had been a while since he'd sent the text, he could only imagine Roman was getting the - not false but not completely  _true_ \- hint that maybe, it was too soon. But, it wasn't like Dean didn't want to ... he almost felt obligated to stay, for his brother's sake. He knew what it was like to be betrayed by someone you thought would never hurt you--

Insecurities came rushing forth, but before he could punch back a reply, his phone rings instead.

Grinning, albeit a little sadly, he answers it.

"Picked a bad time to ask me out again."

_"Did I now?"_ for someone who might as well be taking a rejection, he sounded thoroughly amused, and Dean can swear he'd see a little grin on his lips if Roman was sitting there with them.  _"Got other plans for the evening?"_ And there's the little something he should have heard, that little sadness laced with his words, and there is a beat of quiet. 

Dean is mulling over that reaction - even to someone as affection-starved as he was, there was just no hiding the, misplaced as it was, endearment the other showed him - as if it's amplified in his ear, in his heart, and it's making his lower lip catch between his teeth again. His heart patters in uneven beats before he stands and fixes his black tee shirt over his flat stomach with his free hand, then turns his head to look out the window. 

"Sami needs me right now," is all he says, was all he was  _going to_ say, and it's enough.

_"Say no more. Take care of your brother, okay?"_

But where one might hang up, might recognize that the conversation could end there, Dean decides he doesn't want it to be, doesn't want to stop listening to Roman's voice in his ear tell him everything and nothing. So, he heaves a sigh and, when he's sure Roman's about to pull the phone away to hang up, he says quickly, hoping the words are actual words and not indecipherable noises:

"Comeovertonight."

And the Samoan's smile is easily felt through the phone, because it echoes on the younger's face when he gives his answer.

_"Just tell me when, baby boy."_

* * *

Sami is wearing one of Dean's baggy sweatshirts instead of an actual shirt, a pair of pajama pants donning his hips, as he joins his brother and his b- his  _friend_ in the living room. Dean doesn't look that bashful, not one bit, and the ginger doesn't really mind the extra company.

On the coffee table is an open box of pizza with another unopened and still hot underneath it, and Sami's happy to bounce over and grab a slice of veggie lover's pizza. Blue eyes soften, slightly,  _so slightly_ that nobody would notice unless they strained their eyes - it was the most eager he'd seen his brother be around food, and Dean is relieved, because the both of them were near-bottomless pits and lately the former hadn't been eating as much, as fully as the latter was used to, was comfortable. 

Quiet falls over the three. 

Shane often had nights where he worked later, tonight being one of those nights. All in all, the boys didn't spend a lot of time with their foster father where he wasn't doing some kind of work: paperwork, mostly, but he didn't hide himself away in his study like most others did. 

After he had gotten off the phone with Roman, Dean had gotten a text from Shane, explaining that the paperwork was overflowing and that he would make it up to the boys this weekend. Punching back that  _it was fine_ \- because it was, honestly - he proceeded to change his clothes, his sweatpants and dark tee shirt morphing into a black tank top and jeans.

Normal, nice clothes in the world of Dean Ambrose. 

Sometime between the end of the first box and the start of the second - a cheesy, meaty, spicy monstrosity that Dean's not hesitant in the slightest to dig into - a movie has been put in, one that the brunet isn't fond of by any stretch of the imagination. 

A  _horror_ movie.

It doesn't start off too bad - some cheesy, dark scenery, mist rolling in, a creepy old castle. It starts off almost funny, giving Dean a false sense of safety as he settles against the couch and has the opportunity to scoff and playfully nudge his brother's shoulder because  _hah, nice try, can't scare me_ before there's a scream, a thud, and a mask.

He jumps.

Sami's laughing.

Roman's trying really, really hard not to.

The movie, in itself, isn't a good one as far as horror movies actually go, but he's pretty sure the jump scares - as cheap as they are, as phony and predictable - are the worst part because they get him  _every. single. time._

The teasing was funny at first.

But his reactions made it not as funny anymore. 

Eventually, he's got himself pressed into Roman's side, knees brought up and hands balled up on his knees so that he has somewhere to toss his head down. Even Sami, at this point, in the middle of this horrible yet still terrifying movie, has opted for hiding his eyes in the sweatshirt he's wearing every once in a while. 

Another jump scare lands Dean practically in Roman's lap, and he wraps an arm around his back, placing his large palm on the back of his unruly light-brown curls. 

"Okay, okay, I think you two have seen enough," he laughs, as if he's ten years older, not at all bothered by the scary ghoulish monster that's made itself known for the umpteenth time since the movie had been in the DVD player. As a woman screams loudly, in some squeak of a voice that should have grated on their nerves but in  _fact_ left Dean with his face in Roman's chest and Sami's head completely in his too-big sweatshirt, the larger man rolls his eyes, gives a soft rub to the back of Dean's head, before he reaches over to the remote to turn the screen off. 

"H-hehe, yeah!" I mean, heh, um. School in the morning, and--"

Sami gets up and exits - bolts, is probably a more accurate term - from the room, not bothering to say goodnight. 

It's just Dean and Roman now, the latter with his cheek pressed to the top of the former's head, uttering a little chuckle as slowly, sloooowly, Dean pulls his head of curls out of the Samoan's chest and ignores pointedly how heavy his body feels. He can't bring himself to completely move away though, staying pressed to Roman's side and feeling his arm circle around his neck and over his shoulders.

This was intimate, this was so close,  _too close._

The quiet was longer than it needed to be; longer than what was comfortable, and for some reason it takes its toll on the younger man by sending jolts up his spine and through his brain. When was the last time silence had ever meant something  _good_ , something comfortable ... what this was  _supposed_ to be? Any other time in his life that he was this closely pressed to someone, it was  _never_ a welcome feeling. Not totally. Consensual didn't mean comfortable. 

But this was ... dare he say it? This was nice. 

The clock on the wall read half-past nine, and while it was nowhere close to when Dean usually went to sleep, he could feel his eyes getting heavy despite the fight to do the opposite. Maybe it was the warmth settled in around him because of  _someone_ wrapping himself close. Maybe it was the hand on his shoulder rubbing soft circles against his skin. Whatever it was, his body was continuing its ploy to disobey him, melting into the last bit of distance that he had put between them as he presses his cheek into Roman's chest. 

The hand on his shoulder moves to lightly graze the back of his head, fingers splayed in his curls, and that's it. 

He's not sure at which point he fell asleep, but when he wakes up, Shane's looking down at him with an amused grin on his lips, his dark eyes dancing, and still donning his white coat. Shacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Dean turns his head and looks, to see if it was all a dream, if it was all some cruel hallucination...

And he inhales sharply, loudly gasping despite his intentions, when he sees a tan face relaxed and contentedly sleeping above him.

Exchanging only looks, Shane reaches out to pat his son's hair, mindful of the fingers still tangled in his sleep-mussed curly hair, and walks out of the room.

And Dean, despite how awake he is now, how  _aware_ he is now, closes his eyes again and rests his cheek back down.

And he pretends he can't read, has forgotten how, when words of affection dance behind his eyelids. Words he absolutely  _refuses_ are there in the first place.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case people haven't seen on my Tumblr (cookiethewriter) I plan on taking a couple of weeks off from updating - long story short, I've about caught up to where I'm at off-screen and need to get more written out. This story won't be too much longer, but I want to see if I can at least complete it mostly before I start updating again. So, I'll miss 2 updates, 3 TOPS, but hopefully not more than that. 
> 
> I'll still be active on Tumblr, so if ya see me not writing, send me an ask to yell at me. (Nicely. Be nice. But still yell at me.)
> 
> Enjoy!

It's routine at this point: wake up late, scramble to get himself and Sami into the car. Pretty typical start to the next batch of school days until graduation, which was less than two full months away. Not that Dean was counting. 

Today, however, there was a quake in their world, a contrast to the last morning they had to wake up for school; Friday, before vacation, before everything that had happened that  _could_ have happened, happened ... and both Dean and Sami were feeling the effects: Sami, a little run-down, a little slower in the way he moved. Tense eyes and tight lips. His heart was in healing, but there was a stutter in the process - he would end up seeing Kevin again. 

Dean, however - still not a morning person - seemed a little too eager to get himself into the car and make the journey to school; he didn't usually  _hate_ school in theory, but it wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend his time as a nineteen-year-old young man. However, he was a little glad that he had this opportunity,  _now_ , because he'd get to do something most men with younger brothers wouldn't get to do.

_Beat up Kevin Owens._ The ex-best friend who broke his brother's heart when he tried to give it to him. And, he was damn  _vibrating_!

Earlier that morning, perhaps around 4AM, he had woken up without the Samoan underneath him, splayed on his back across the sofa. His body was still thrumming, though, cheek still hot from being pressed into a warm chest, probably reddened slightly - he hadn't been there alone for that long. It didn't bother him much, waking up alone, and he sat up slightly before rubbing at his eyes and darting for the shower. 

After that, he couldn't stop himself from moving, tapping his fingers on his jean-clad thighs or knocking loosely-closed fists against the angle of his jaw to psych himself up, his own personal hype man.

Shane had given him a pointed look before the SUV even came to a full stop in front of the school, before looking to his other son and offering a little comforting look. "Have a nice day, boys. See you later."

"Got it," Dean dismissed, opening the door before he waited for Sami. Things were different now. Usually they went their own ways, Dean right inside and the other toward his track buddies and they would be okay with that - but things had been different then. His brother didn't have a broken heart then.

( _He hadn't known Roman then._ )

They walked arm-in-arm, and when Sami's steps faltered slightly in front of his track buddies, to say hello, to pretend as if nothing was wrong ... his eyes fall upon a rounder guy, black tank top and basketball shorts and scratchy beard. Beady eyes that suddenly narrow in hate.

And, just like that.

Dean is on him - crooked fingers and bared teeth and eyes big and wild. 

" _You son of a bitch!_ " is the first thing he says when the air rushes from his lungs. He's scratching and punching and avoiding the same treatment as Owens waves thick knuckles in his face, yelling all the while. " _Never should'a gone, never should'a--_ " the words are hard to hear over the yells of the track team, over Sami and a few other kids running in their direction, but even if he had heard them, he wouldn't have understood them: when Dean was angry, upset, a mix of everything, he had a tendency to babble, mindlessly spewing whatever filthy word and dirty promise he could get his metaphorical hands on.

There were a lot of  _fuck yous_ and  _die die die_ in there, but it was all part of the babble.

By the time the bell rings and he's managed to be ripped away, Kevin is a lot worse off than Dean is as far as looks go, but he's nursing a split lip and the scab on his forehead had opened from greedy nails. He certainly looks worse with blood dripping between his eyes and over his lips, but he doesn't care. 

"I'll ... I'll see you later."

When Sami walks away, he's pretty sure he hears his voice crack, but Dean hurriedly runs to the bathroom to wash up and right himself. 

* * *

"God, Ambrose, you look worse than usual," Rollins has a tone much too light to be as offensive as he meant it, and honestly, Dean is still a little too winded from the run from bathroom to class to utter any sort of retort. A band-aid a little too small for the scrap on his head covers the worst of it, leaving little else to the imagination but not caring too much about it. "The hell happened to you?"

Releasing his bottom lip from its sucked-in place inside his mouth and pressing the sleeve of his sweatshirt into it to slow the dots of crimson, he shoots the two-toned a tired glare, pulling his sleeve away and running his tongue over the wound. "Why don't you ask Owens? When he gets outta the nurse's office, that is."

Rollins seems confused by this explanation, but Dean doesn't give him the satisfaction of expanding on his words; he doesn't seem to mind the state he's in, even with the dots of blood on his sleeve, and even if he did it wasn't any of  _his_ business. It was a little late for him to pretend to care now. 

"Alright, everybody sit down and shut up," their teacher calls, his hair lightly spiked in the front and beady eyes icy and very no-bullshit. He doesn't seem to mind the state brown-and-blue is in, either, but then again, he knows as well as any other teacher how 'disruptive' Dean was. When he's done giving his classroom a once-over, he seats himself behind his desk, clicking through something on his computer before starting roll call.

The chatter is a low lull compared to what it had been, students all around him in every direction conversing with their friends about their spring breaks: time with family, time with friends, their boyfriends and girlfriends. Sinking in his chair when the taste of copper recedes, Dean crosses his arms, waving his hand lazily when his name is called before he starts picking at his chewed nails.

* * *

 

Dean could have used a distraction throughout the entire day: a friendly face, the vibration from an incoming text message, and end to the mundane, monotonous quiet that had settled over the school as the brunet tried to finish his classes with as much interest as possible.

He didn't get a lot done as far as personal accomplishments - Mr. Austin wasn't there for wood shop, so that class was turned into a free period. Lunch was boring -  _Roman-less_ \- and he ended up sitting outside on a bench, overlooking the school grounds as if he could find something interesting between blades of grass. He barely touched his food, some dry excuse of a burger and too-salty fries, sour peaches. 

He was still wound up from this morning and it didn't really help that he could see, in the distance, Sami sitting in the grass surrounded by his track buddies, all tense smiles and worried looks. From this far away, Dean couldn't see the expression on his face, just that he looked like he wanted to shrivel up. 

Getting up and depositing his school lunch in the waste bin nearby, he started to make his way over, not knowing what to do but wanting to do  _something._ He'd dealt with betrayal, a broken heart, before. It shouldn't be too hard. 

A portly figure is making its way toward Sami, too, perpendicular to him. Looked like he had a group of people with him too. Quickly, Dean pushes his feet faster, not liking the speed that the other had set, not sure if he had seen the brunet yet but  _definitely_ sure he saw as Sami started to get up to put distance between himself and the person coming toward him. 

To his credit - and Dean was  _damn_ proud of his brother - Sami didn't attack when Kevin separated himself from the small crowd and got right in his face, yelling, poking and shoving at his chest as if he had a right to touch him at all. 

The growl that tore from the brunet's throat could have been considered possessive, but it was  _definitely_ loud enough to be heard, drawn out until he grabbed Kevin by the back of his shirt and dragged him back enough to put himself between them.

"Why don't you get outta his face? Last thing he needs is to smell whichever fast food joint you had to tongue before coming over here."

"You think you're real clever, don't you, Ambrose?" Kevin barked a laugh that lacked humor, lacked warmth. "I have a right as his best friend to--"

"See, that's funny," it was a wonder he could speak evenly through his rising anger, "You say 'best friend' but I'm pretty sure you lost  _any_ right to stand  _next_ to him after you fuckin'  _mauled him._ "

The look that crossed Kevin's face was almost deserving of the punch Dean was getting ready to give. "You really that anybody could tolerate his ass like I can?" Tearing his eyes away from the protective Dean, which was probably a  _huge_ mistake on his part, at least that brown-and-blue thought, "I know as much as you do that nodbody else wants to have to put up with you, man, so I guess you're stuck with me forever."

Sami's fingers curled into Dean's shirt, but it wasn't a fearful touch. It was almost as if he was grounding himself against the words that cut into his soul. It made the growl rip from the latter's throat again, pressing his back closer to Sami's hand, giving him more to touch to alleviate the pressure he knew was building behind his eyes. 

"You have about five fucking seconds to walk away, or I swear to  _God_ \--"

"You'll  _what_ , Ambrose? You don't think you can take me on, do you? All by yourself, or are you gonna have your  _boyfriend_ come and fight your battles for you again?"

_Leave Roman out of this!_

The snarl wasn't even because Kevin had assumed they were ... together. 

"It ain't our battle," he said, voice dipping into a lower, gravelly, territorial rumble. Sami pulled himself around Dean, standing side by side with him, but the other didn't back down. Wasn't the type. "'s his. But don't think I won't finish what I  _fucking started_ if you put a hand on my brother again, Owens."

The lunch bell tolled. The group of guys all rallied Kevin Owens back, though he only put enough resistance to glare back at them before being pulled toward the side doors. When the coast was clear, the rest of Sami's friends stood up, simultaneously patting both brothers on their arms and shoulders, before they turned around to head into the school through the front entrance. 

Sami was behind them but stopped halfway, staring at Dean whose fists opened and closed, tight and then lax.

_Boyfriend..._

"Hey. You coming?"

Sami's voice wasn't so tired, a little more confident. Turning to face his brother, Dean stalks over and wraps his arm around Sami's shoulder, knocking their heads together in a bump before they parted ways inside to their respective classes. 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a big reason for the tiny break was that I was stuck on how to execute the beginnings of this big thing that's gonna happen later. Well, I've sowed the seeds, and to celebrate, I'm here a day earlier than normal to give this to you.
> 
> And, if I do say so myself... I think you'll enjoy this. Consider it a 'part one' of sorts. 'Part two'/Chapter 12 will be in a week.

It was so sudden, it made Dean jump. Right out of his skin, perhaps a foot in the air the moment that telltale ring-tone sounded from the bedside table; after school, he had gone straight to work, but it was hot and the factory’s shipments had gotten delayed, so his work-day had been rather short today. Instead of getting home around 8PM, he was home by 6PM, and could get a head start on his homework...

At least, until about an hour into it, he got a text, and had instantly realized that he had forgotten to put his phone on silent, or at least vibrate, while he worked.

Algebra could go fuck itself, honestly.

Leaning away from his book and sliding it away as if it was hot and burning his fingertips, he grabs his cellphone, his teeth catching on his lower lip and sucking on it when the letters made themselves known after he clicked on the message.

His smile was so big.

**you busy?**

It was perhaps the second full week since he’d gone back to school, and he hadn’t really had a lot of time to see Roman lately - oh, they still texted, occasionally talked on the phone when they weren’t too tired from working, _or when they were_ and Dean got the pleasure of hearing his Sleepy Voice on the other end of the line - except in passing, so when that question flashed before his eyes, he was quick to type back.

_just workin on some hw. could use a breather though._

The silence was welcomed between their messages, but it was short-lived when the response came.

**come outside!**

Skeptical but curious, Dean pushes off of his bed, stretching his arms over his head before padding on bare feet to his window, seeing a familiar SUV pulled up outside and that familiar dark man-bun sticking up over a tan face.

He’d missed him.

_Yup_. Missed him.

He’d grown too fucking soft.

Not bothering to grab his jacket, flashing sun-kissed shoulders to the world, he makes his way out of his bedroom, but not before pocketing his phone on the way out. Sami was in his room, door ajar and doing his homework, offering a light wave as his brother walked by.

Dean’s pretty sure he’s smiling still, because Sami has that little lopsided, knowing look on his face before he turns back to finishing his homework.

Dimples on full display, he all but runs to the door - he’s not... he _isn’t_ excited. ...who was he kidding? - and swings it open, almost running into a hand that’s poised to knock on the door. Instead, the hand just brushes the tip of his nose, and raising an eyebrow up at the Samoan who seemed a little too amused, he pushes him slightly to make room for them both on the porch.

Leaning back against the closed door, he opens his mouth to ask _what are you doing here_ , but is so _RUDELY_ interrupted by warm, slightly-wet lips atop his own. Leaning slightly into the kiss, he huffs, expression mock-annoyed when Roman leans back and presses his hand to the side of the younger’s head, leaning on it so he can glance at him with a knowing grin.

“Can’t just say _hey_ like a normal person,” mumbled Dean, crossing his arms over his chest and doing his damnedest to look annoyed. There’s no fooling Roman, though, who merely laughs.

“Hey.”

_Boyfriend..._

One side of his lips quirks up, satisfied, maybe even a little relieved before he reaches behind him and turns the door knob, letting them both inside before he’s babbling a mile a minute about what his past couple of weeks had been like, how he had stuck it to Kevin on multiple occasions. Nodding enthusiastically, the older follows Dean into the kitchen.

“Thirsty?”

“Mm... just water’s fine. So, how’s Sami doing?”

Grabbing two water bottles from the door of the fridge, Dean sits in the chair next to Roman, shrugging one shoulder as he hands over one of the cold bottles. “He’s holding up fine - pretty much over the ‘grief’ part and switched right to bitter rage, but he’s a lot better at controlling it than I am. Doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

Grabbing it and uncapping it to take a drink, Roman seems to consider that combination of words, before he swallows with a little grin. “I don’t think anybody could handle _two_ Dean Ambrose’s, so that’s good at least.”

“ _Wow_.” Dean feigns offense, placing a hand on his chest. “I see how it is. I bring you into my home and you reward me with insults. That’s cold, Ro.” The nickname sounds so natural as it escapes his lips, without permission - like a _lot_ of stuff that happens when he’s in Roman’s company - and the other seems to like it as well as a growing smile warms the room, slipping into place like it’d been waiting to be there.

His heart thumps against his ribs, steady heartbeat loud like a bass drum in his ears, deafening him yet making noises sharper, clearer and it’s just a big _fucking_ contradiction.

_Boyfriend…_

The sound of the front door is nearly lost on Dean as he looks into Roman’s gray eyes, lost in the heat that swirled inside them and in the bright light that shone through his very pores and suddenly he felt like he was staring at the sun. Looking away and peeking over his shoulder as if there was something hiding behind him, he hears a chuckle in front of him, and it makes heat of his own spread over him.

He _swore_ , if he was blushing right now…

The front door opened, and the smell of Chinese take-out wafted into the house as footsteps came closer, and brown-and-blue whipped his head around to glance at his foster father.

“Ah, Just Roman!” Shane said enthusiastically, “I was wondering when you’d come around. Sans bruises, of course.”

Roman chuckled lightly, getting up and going over to help with one of the two big paper bags - _fucking golden-boy over here_ \- before setting it on the counter top and turning to take the other before the bag was joined by its brother. Receiving a pat on the shoulder in gratitude, he joined Dean once more, though remained standing.

_Stay for dinner._

_Stay forever._

Looking up with big blue eyes, Dean is surprised at his own thoughts, looking at the Samoan as if it had been his voice that had spoken those words. Pursing his lips and managing to noiselessly gulp under the mutiny of the stupid muscle that was pumping blood through him and, ultimately, making him light-headed, he finds comfort in the way Roman looks back at him.

It’s not even in a certain way. Just reciprocating the look he was being given.

The sound of Shane’s voice shakes them out of their staring contest, and this time, he’s pretty sure there’s no fighting the heat prickling at his cheeks. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner, Roman. I got more than enough - we’re a family of eaters, that’s for sure.” The smile on his face is encouraging, as if he’s _hoping_ the Samoan would accept.

And when he looks to Dean and nods his head, both father and son share similar expressions.

* * *

True to his words, Shane had splayed several paper boxes and plastic containers of Chinese food along the counter; chicken, pork and beef colored the spaces between steamed vegetables and rice and noodles.

Sami had come out at the smell of food, his appetite steadily returning after that night a couple of weeks ago and it had become more and more apparent the more food he stacked onto his plate. Shane had turned on some television show, mere background noise, as the four went down the line to plate themselves some food.

Roman’s cell phone buzzed. Setting his plate down on the counter and digging into his pocket to retrieve the device, he presses his thumb to the screen - it’s some sort of touch-screen smart phone, Dean notices - and swipes the screen to the right to read the message … and his lips press tightly together, a completely flat line that goes perfectly with the narrowing of his eyes and the drawn-down angles of his eyebrows.

Walking around him to get to the lo mein, Dean tries not to look at what was making Roman so tense, but instead of asking, he offers a little grin when the Samoan’s head looks back up, almost forgetting where he was before he finds the baby-blues looking back at him. Shrugging one shoulder, he picks his plate back up and steals the box of noodles as Dean’s getting ready to take some, and laughs loudly as Dean complains.

The four all adjourn to the living room, Shane taking up the love-seat - Sami had tried to beat him there, because sitting in the love-seat meant that you got your own space to stretch out. Everybody tried to get there first, so when Shane got there and flashed an innocent smile at the ginger, there was a melodramatic groan before Sami took the end of the couch nearest his father - and Dean and Roman each sitting on the couch.

Shane had put on some action movie, with dirty men and guns and car chases, but Dean couldn’t find himself fully paying attention. Every once in a while, the Samoan beside him would have his phone out, staring at something, before he’d eat a couple of morsels and repeat the cycle. It didn’t bother him, considering he respected Roman’s privacy enough not to intrude.

Still … each moment that his eyes found his phone, the deeper the frown became. And after almost a month of seeing that stupidly-bright smile on his face, Dean could only wonder just _what_ had the audacity to pull such an expression from his Samoan…

…

_Um_.

…

From _Roman_.

One movie melded into the next, and Roman had gotten up to get himself some more. Getting up to do the same, or not was probably more accurate, Dean walks out and into the kitchen, setting his plate down on the counter to see that the Samoan was cleaning things up, throwing away empty cartons and pursing his lips all the while.

Crossing his arms before he leaned his back against the hard counter, he watches with part mild amusement, part concern. “You alright there, Ro?”

“Hmm?” it was as if he was on autopilot, his movements slowing until they were practically nonexistent; it looked like he hadn’t even realized what he’d been doing, before he set down the carton he was holding and awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other. That was an automatic _no_ and Dean was absolutely no stranger to the word.

Which was why, when Roman said, “Of course, why?” the brunet had a frown on his face, but perhaps the concern had put a damper on it.

“You don’t think I can spot a liar when I see one?” screwing up his mouth in a did you really think that would work pout, he reaches a hand out… before raising it to his collarbone instead, tapping to give his hand something else to do. Roman doesn’t even comment on it, just looks down at the floor.

“...I’m sorry,” he said softly, dipping his hand into his pocket again and grabbing his phone, sliding it so it unlocked and pressing his thumb across the screen to get to the messages. Clicking on one, he leaned close to Dean and held the screen near to him.

Dean gently took hold of the phone before …

**Hickory-dickory-dock … the little mouse can’t run from the cat forever. One day, you’ll 1/2**

…Roman assisted in maneuvering to the next message, much to Dean’s chagrin.

**…give me what I want, Roman. Don’t make me give chase. 2/2**

A sinking feeling settled in Dean’s stomach; one that, if he weren’t already leaning against a hard surface, would have sent him falling backwards from loss of balance. “I…” words weren’t his strongest allies in any normal circumstance, but for some reason, his throat seemed drier right now, words burning and causing him discomfort. The Samoan’s arm overlapped his, providing comfort, or perhaps seeking it.

_What do I do?_

“Yeah. That’s not the first message he’s sent me, either.”

Dean’s eyes slid upward, looking at the contact name, but it was listed as ‘Unnamed’. It didn’t take a whole lot of imagination to be able to guess who it was who sent him the message, though. Not after what happened a couple of weeks ago, and after what Seth had told him.

_Another person whose ass I gotta kick?_

_Bray Wyatt … your ass is mine._

His hands had tightened into fists, and it took a lot of willpower to make them loosen, leaving angry crescents in the meat of his palm before he sees movement, and turns his head slightly to see Roman dragging a hand down his face, lingering over his mouth as he breathes into it, and suddenly the brunet feels his anger wash away, replaced with concern; in the time that he’d known Roman, he’d never seen him look so … _this_. It wasn’t really fear, but it was pretty damn close to it.

Looking behind him to make sure it was just them lingering in the kitchen, he chews on the inside of his cheek, before he walks to stand in front of Roman and lifts a hand behind the taller man’s neck, his palm resting on his skin in the same manner that the latter’s had when they were in the hospital, waiting for Sami.

It looked like it was having the same effect, as the other’s shoulders lowered, relaxed.

“Hey. Remember when I said that nobody messes with my people?” His voice was softer, his usual deep voice accentuated with gravel as he tried to keep his voice low enough for only the other to hear. “You’re … that means you, too. And I swear… to _Christ_ that what I did to Kevin Owens is gonna be _nothing_ compared to what I do to him.”

There was so much finality in his voice that Roman looked at him, straight into his eyes, and with the help of his own hand, Dean brought their faces close, but only let their foreheads touch. His temper made him pant slightly, the action being less gentle than when Roman had done it, a satisfying dull _thud_ rattling his brain until his eyes were forced shut.

The quiet “Thank you” from the other almost went unnoticed, but the quiet hum from Dean and the way his thumb pressed a little more into the column of Roman’s neck was all the response that was needed before they pulled away and cleaned the kitchen together.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'part two'. 
> 
> equal parts makin' out and more insecure Deano.

By the time they had finished cleaning the kitchen, Dean couldn't even remember what he'd been so angry about - or, he  _could_ , but it had been pushed aside at the sight of that familiar little smile on Roman's face. There was a need stuck along the inside of his skin, not above gluing them to the hip so that he could make  _double_ sure that Bray fucking Wyatt wasn't gonna get anywhere  _near_ Roman. 

Instead of joining the other two back in the living room, the brown and blue dragged dark and gray toward his bedroom, a swirling feeling settling along his body as he recognized the feeling he was no stranger to. However, this time, it wasn't brought about by lust, for some feral need, some intense itch he couldn't scratch, no...

This was awakened by  _that message_ , and was fueled by the overpowering need to protect.

Once they were inside his bedroom, Dean could barely get the door closed fast enough before Roman pulled him into his arms, leaving kisses on his forehead and down his face until he captured his lips at last. A noise rumbled out of Dean's throat, and immediately Roman sought it out, burying his face in the column of the light-haired's neck, tongue and teeth working together and drawing out more sounds, equal in their need and relief. 

"Mm, wait-" Dean tried, but his body betrayed him as he wraps an arm around Roman's neck and drags him down onto the bed with him. Only, instead of letting the larger man hang over him, he turned them over so that he could quickly throw his leg over and do the hovering himself, hands on either side of the Samoan's body before he leaned forward to allow Roman a little more time on his skin before he was tempted to return the favor. 

Maybe there was something in the Chinese food, Dean mused hazily.

It was as if he was not used to being the one lying down, because suddenly Roman was pushing upwards, trying to sit up so he could properly flip them over, but Dean was  _not_ having any of it as his hands pushed him back, holding him in place, a groan leaving the larger man's lips before he started to sit back up again. Blue eyes narrowed.  _Don't even think about it._

Taking his bottom lip with his teeth, the Samoan stares up at him, looking a little vulnerable and suddenly, it's Dean ducking his head to nuzzle against the side of Roman's neck, nose to jaw, teeth to throat. 

"Dean-" Roman mutters, a little breathless and honestly, it's the most bliss-filled sound the other had ever heard. "Where's... ah, where-" it's difficult to form words as teeth and tongue tease the sensitive angles of his neck, so he gives up trying, much to Dean's satisfaction before he drops a kiss to the junction where his neck and shoulder meets. 

"Gonna keep you safe," is all Dean could manage to make coherent, body rocking slightly with the need thrumming through him - he'd never been this consumed by it, not really, even if he was no stranger to this sort of thing; the group of people he'd been around a handful of years ago had made sure of that, devolving into what was probably close to an orgy when they were high enough, tensions running high and sexual tension running higher and inhibitions  _so, so low._

Dean wasn't a virgin. But ... romance? One might consider him one in that department: a romantic virgin, perhaps. 

The tremors that rocked through his body were only stopped when muscular arms wrapped around his waist, steadying him as legs scooted them up the bed until Roman was laying against the pillows and he felt Dean exhale, a groan laced around a breath as his fingers of one hand clutch at Roman's shoulder.

A chuckle escapes Roman, understanding now what all that had been - _marking his territory, or perhaps, staking a claim?_ \- and it draws Dean's face upward, cheeks flushed from the sudden risen temperature of the room from their exertions. The chuckling turns soundless as blue searches gray, and he pulls him up so their faces are each other's reflections, and Roman pushes his lips against Dean's in a slow, languid kiss. 

They lay like that for a while before a breathy sound leaves the smaller man, asking for release or more or air or no air, the hand pawing at Roman's chest neither pushing or pulling. Touching.

Their lips release with a wet _pop_ and Dean pants against the man below him, his hairline lined with droplets of sweat but he leans against Roman's forehead anyway, eyes drifting shut slowly. One word passes behind his eyelids as he searches for some kind of stability that didn't have a stifling heat and addicting lips and silver eyes.

_Mine._

* * *

Time goes on as it usually does - unpredictable, fast some days and slow others, barely leaving room for the little bit of social life that Dean actually had. It was school, work, homework and sleep; a never-ending cycle he could admit a thousand times to not missing a single bit about school, and would continue to say such a thing in the many years to come. Eventually, things get busier, though. 

Because is  _final_ prom is finally,  _finally_ around the corner. 

It wasn't something that he'd have paid particularly close mind to in the past, seeing as how not a lot of people seemed to bother looking in his direction at school - and the ones that  _did_ certainly didn't like him. Not that there was some unrequited pining going on on his end, either. He didn't like  _anybody_ there but Sami. 

Dances weren't usually his thing - the whole 'going out and partying' scene was something he could get behind in any other context, out and mingling with people and talking and laughing and yelling obscenities that might or might not have an added edge or slur (or both) with the assistance of cheap beer - it all sounded like a good time. He was game. 

But Dean didn't dance. Nor did he like feeling constricted, like he thought he might while wearing a tux - still, it wouldn't hurt to just...  _look_ , right?

He had stopped in front of the table by the front of the school where they were selling the tickets, glancing at the paper that held the specifics of the prom: at a large hotel in the busiest part of town, in the dining hall; a dinner starting at 6 until 7, and then dancing from then until 11. He feels his teeth catch his bottom lip almost before he gives permission to do so. 

Before, he didn't have anybody he could go with.

But,  _now..._

"You looking to buy a pair'a tickets?"

Looking up at the voice - the Senior class president, John Cena - Dean scrunches up his mouth in a show of confusion. "Not sure yet. Gotta ask 'em first." 

Nodding with a smile, John goes back to talking to a kid standing next to Dean, who moves out of the way with the question burning in the back of his brain; would Roman even  _want_ to go to a high school prom? Odds were he probably went to both of his, or all of them, and the thought made something settle heavy in the pit of his stomach. 

Maybe it was a stupid idea. School dances weren't usually that fun, right?

* * *

Unfortunately, the thought nagged at him for the rest of the day, and while he tried to forget about it as he walked home with his hands dug into his pockets and backpack pulling his shoulders dragged down, he just couldn’t get the thought of dragging Roman to his senior prom out of his mind; laughing, drinking punch that somebody _probably_ wouldn’t spike, enjoying each other’s company (in a more muted manner, because you can _bet_ that Dean wouldn’t ever let Roman kiss him the way he has, was known for, in front of his peers.)

When he gets home, he can hear Shane in the kitchen making dinner - or, maybe he’s making music with the pots and pans; when it’s Shane cooking, he can never be sure - and immediately he heads inside, glancing at the pots on the stove and the sink growing with dishes that he probably could have done without using.

“Ah, you’re home! Dinner will be ready in a while - why don’t you go start on your homework?”

The brunet waves off the older man, who has half of a frown on his face before he’s perked up, waving his spatula in Dean’s direction. “I got an e-mail newsletter thing from your principal today. Prom is coming up soon, right? You gonna go?”

“I didn’t really think about it,” the lie is smooth, almost too smooth, but his face must have given him away because, immediately, Shane is back on him.

“--because if you are, we have to go out and get you fitted for a tux! Or, at least a nice suit, with a tie and everything, but we have to make sure your tie matches the other’s outfit, so--” the words blend together in an excited jumble of syllables and tones, the brunet having started daydreaming long before Shane had started rattling off the things that they needed to prepare.

"--not to mention, we’ll have to hire a limousine and-- are you planning on renting a room at a hotel or something, because that’s what we need to consider here, because I need to know if I should wait up for you or not and--”

“Whoa, whoa!” Dean’s hands shoot up in a feeble attempt to give pause to his foster father’s rattling-on. “I never said I was going! ‘sides, I don’t have anybody to go with!”

The look on Shane’s face was almost as hysterical as the one that crossed Dean’s when he realized the message he was trying to convey. Apparently, it was heard loud and clear, but still… “Of course you do. Why don’t you ask Roman? You like him enough, right?”

_‘Enough’. Yeah, right._

“Doubt he’d wanna go to some senior prom,” griped the brunet, probably pouting.

(Definitely pouting.)

Shane’s eyes softened in that way they did when he knew Dean’s heart better than he did, and he walked around the counter - completely abandoning the simmering pots on the stove, which was also common Shane behavior when he was in the kitchen. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’d go stand in the middle of the hot desert in a turtleneck if you asked him to, Deano.”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, but he tried to keep the narrowing of his eyes a secret, shaking his head to hide his confused blues. He saw the way Roman looked at him, too, and something in him _knew_ he was right. Or, hoped at least. But there was always that underlying anxiety that accompanied him every day; since he was a child, it had been _take take take_ no matter what it was, who did it, whatever.

He wouldn’t have been able to take it if that’s all that Roman wanted, too. He’d let himself get too damn close. Hadn’t even thought of the possibility of it, had let the Samoan’s presence become a constant, and-

Uttering a scoff, Dean turns around to walk toward his bedroom, his foster father’s words spinning around in his head, impossible poetry reciting in his ears as if somebody was chanting the words to cast a magical spell on him or something.

The fuck did _Shane_ know, anyway.

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The answer to the ultimate question: "Will Dean ask Roman to prom?" Not only that, but we're switching up POV! You'll see what I mean - a lot of people were asking if I'd be switching it up, switching POV, and while it was more for 'deadbeat' than it was for 'light and heat', I heard you all loud and clear. POV switches are on the way!

Roman stepped into the Helmsley household looking a little worse for wear; the coffee machine hadn’t been cleaned properly since the last time he had done it, and the last hour of his shift had included sweeping up old coffee grounds and mopping up what was assuredly about ten customers’ orders. Of course, it hadn’t been his fault, but he apologized anyway, insisting that he would tend to the machine when his shift was finished… at six o’clock.

It was almost ten.

Unbuttoning his work shirt and rubbing behind his neck - he smelled _completely_ of coffee, which under any other circumstance, wouldn’t be so bad - he pads over to a smaller room, opening a sliding door and dropping his work shirt inside the hamper as well as stripping off the plain white - supposed to be white, now was a light brown with stained coffee - tee shirt and dropping it afterward.

A shower. Roman wanted a shower.

Leaving the sliding door ajar for when he brought over the rest of his dirty clothes, he pads down the hallway and opens the door to the finished basement, flicking on the light switch at the top of the stairs before he follows the steps down, greeted by the warm yellow light of the ceiling lamp.

The basement was big enough to have a basement home-theater and two doors leading to two respective rooms; a guest room and the bathroom perpendicular to it. The downstairs was practically his unless they had company over, which was proving less and less often the closer it came to Seth’s graduation.

And Dean’s.

He had been invited, unsurprisingly, by the two-toned almost a month before and had been all-too eager to accept. He had two reasons to go now, not that he was complaining.

Stepping into his room and padding over to his suitcase, which he hadn’t even really unpacked, just dug clothes out from as he needed them, he plucked out a pair of sweatpants and boxers, holding them in one hand as his other simultaneously reached up to tug his hair out of its tight bun, letting his dark hair fall over his shoulders and down his back.

He probably should get it cut, but just couldn’t find the heart to.

Stepping back through the door and toward the bathroom, he feels a vibration in his pocket but doesn’t reach inside for his phone until he’s inside the tiled room. Grinning, he presses his thumb against the home button, the screen brightening, and his eyes brighten with it as he slides his thumb across the screen to unlock it and view the text message.

_did you go to your prom?_

It was that time, wasn’t it - almost, anyway. Roman placed his clean clothes on top of the sink and pressed his back against it. He typed his reply quickly. **I went to one, yeah**. He doesn’t send it yet, looks over the words from both Dean and himself and wonders, _hopes_. Before sending, he adds: **Why?**

When the reply doesn’t come for a few minutes, the Samoan decides he can shower in peace, even if his thoughts aren’t very _peaceful_ while he does it; he is an affectionate person, touchy-feely under his domineering exterior, but Dean isn’t really like that. Not that he minds, he doesn’t see Dean as not being affectionate, just not used to it, and he hasn’t pushed him away yet.

And it wasn’t like something like this would be too ‘intimate’ for them, because _hell_ , Dean had practically sat himself on Roman days before, kissed him deeply and touching and for the life of him, he couldn’t fully commit to the idea that Dean didn’t feel the same way. The only thing that didn’t make them ‘together’ was that neither of them had ever brought it up, but maybe this would be a good outlet to bring that into discussion.

Roman wanted to be with him, after all.

And he couldn’t exactly vouch for the light-haired, but he was pretty sure Dean wanted to be with him, too. He didn’t seem like the kind of person to get cozy with people unless they meant something to him.

The warm water felt good on his muscles, loosening the tension and, better than that, washing away the grime that had settled over his tanned skin. Working himself into a lather with his soap - scentless, because the product he uses for his hair smells plenty - and rinsing it all away, he turns off the water and immediately wraps a towel around his hips.

Clothes back in hand, he heads back into his bedroom, stepping over to the bedside table and pulling out a container of coconut oil. Opening the lid, he starts to dip his fingers into it, before his phone rings and he huffs out because putting oil in his hair is a _sacred moment_. He only releases a light sigh when he realizes who it is that’s calling and, using his clean hand, he presses the green button and puts it on speaker.

“What’s up, baby boy?”

And there’s a moment, a split second, where Roman thinks that Dean might have hung up because there’s a beat of silence. However, there’s a hitch of air, as if he forgot he was on the phone, before Dean’s scratchy voice echoes through the phone.

_“Doyouwannagotopromwithme?”_

And he exhales - because, as cliche as it sounds, his breath had been baited without his knowledge and he realizes with a grin that maybe Dean’s was, too - as he runs his fingers through his hair, the oil sinking in and making him sigh but it’s not just because of the sweet smell of coconut, no.

Maybe Dean _did_ feel the same way as he did.

“Hm… lemme see if I got this, now,” he tries to keep his voice as steady as possible, even if he simply wants to whoop n’ holler. “You, Dean Ambrose, are askin’ me to your prom. You want me to take time off work, cancel all my other plans, and go to some High School dance. Is that right?”

_“If you don’t wanna go, you don’t gotta drag it out--”_

“Oh, I never said I didn’t want to go,” Roman says, his voice breathed through a laugh that managed to slither through the cracks of what was supposed to be teasing. Damn it, now he’s given himself away. “I just wanna make sure I got this right.”

He knows that Dean struggles with a lot of insecurity and doubt - they had talked about it some, touched on some of it when they’d spent all night talking weeks ago, but he can’t help but feel a little humbled by the fact that he even thought to want to invite him in the first place. It brings a smile to his face and, dragging his hands out of his hair and wiping the excess oil on his chest for convenience sake, he picks up the phone and turns speaker off, pressing the phone to his ear.

It grows silent, but he can hear shifting and bed-springs creaking, and he can see Dean fidgeting. A breathed _“Yeah…”_ , smaller than it should have been, is his answer before Roman laughs endearingly because _you don’t have to be shy with me, baby boy._

“Yeah. Hell yeah I wanna go.”

And he swears he hears him gasp, but will he say anything about it? Probably not.

* * *

And Dean is _elated_.

They talked for another hour, dipping into the territory where Roman’s voice started to slur and he could tell he was getting drowsy, but neither of them seem to want to say goodnight. Every time Dean brings up that _hey, you should probably head to bed_ , Roman would make up some half-assed excuse, or would ask him a question and he’d answer and they’d be off on another conversation.

Most of what they say has nothing to do with prom; Roman talks about work, how the coffee machine broke and Dean makes some remark about how _it serves you right_ and they tease and laugh and it’s a good feeling, talking like this with Roman. He confesses that he stopped by the table where the tickets were being sold and he reluctantly confesses that he almost bought them on the spot, but wasn’t sure, and Roman playfully scolds him.

_“’course I’d go. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my boy.”_

And he’s not sure if there’s a second part of that last word he’s waiting for, but he pretends not to notice the little ounce of disappointment before he clears his throat. “Guess I’ll buy ‘em on Monday. They’ll still be on sale, I think. You wanna do the whole color-coordinating thing, or-?”

_“Nah. Don’t even have to wear a fancy-shmancy tux if ya’ don’t want to.”_ And there’s a beat where Dean looks at his dresser, at the clean pair of jeans and tee shirt that had been brought in earlier, and there’s an exasperated sound made on the other line, drawing his attention back. _“And no, you can’t wear jeans, Dean. Gotta at least try to look nice.”_

“You a psychic or somethin’, Ro?” there was no stopping the colorful disbelief in his tone, “I was literally about to suggest my nicest pair of jeans. You’re a fun-sucker.”

_“Y’know, that ain’t the worst thing I’ve been called, so I’ll allow it.”_

They laughed together, soft and airy, before Roman yawned on the other side. And something inside Dean softens, melts the hard edges that make him _Dean Ambrose_ and he has this crushing urge to be tender, to tell him to go to sleep, but it gets caught in his throat.

He _wants_ to be tender, but the emotion catches on his edges, and he gulps.

They sit in silence, but it isn’t harsh or stifling or awkward. Roman seems quite content on the other side, actually, and every so often he says something soft, something heavy with sleep, and Dean’s closer to saying the words he wants to say but still. They catch. They cut.

Picking at a loose string in his pajama pants, Dean listens to Roman’s soft breathing, every so often cracking a ghost of a grin when Roman’s breath hitches, and he can only assume that he’d fallen asleep before forcing himself awake. It’s the longest tug-of-war he’s ever played, and as much as he would like to continue to play, he has to work the next day.

“Ro, you awake?”

_“Mm… barely.”_

“Should’a gone to sleep,” he says, voice low, the gravel swollen into rocks, appearing hoarser. “Don’t always gotta force yourself to stay awake.”

_“I like talkin’ t’ya though.”_

Dean likes the way he loses all grammatical-correctness when he’s tired, and he utters a chuckle. “Me too. But I got work. So if you won’t hang up, I will.”

_“Fine. Night, D.”_

“G’night.”

He doesn’t hang up, not until he hears Roman do it first, before he slides his phone onto his bedside table and plugs it in to charge for the night.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the start of an 'arc', so to say, leading up to the penultimate scene. I'm simply laying down foundation, perhaps pitching up some drywall. Hypothetically. 
> 
> Prepare for a brotherly moment, a father-son moment, and ...a thing people have been asking for. Yep. The Roman/Seth confrontation. I won't give away too much more. Enjoy!

“Are you going to rent a hotel room and stuff?” for what it was worth, Sami was doing a better job than Shane had at hiding his enthusiasm over Dean asking Roman to prom; honestly, his brother had always done his best to be supportive, when it called for it. Shane was damn excitable more than half the time when it came to his sons and their better decisions, so sometimes it was nice to have a calmer support system.

Dean chews on the inside of his cheek, not sure if embarrassment or anxiety is winning the battle in his head. “’Mean, ah- Roman and I aren’t really … I don’t think he’d …”

A look crosses Sami’s eyes then, perhaps close to sympathy. It hadn’t ever become clear to Dean with clean-cut words what he and Roman were. Sure, they’d had the one date, and they’d kissed a couple of times, and _made out_ … but Dean wasn’t anybody anyone ever _wanted_. He was a bit too damaged, in his mind, a bit too emotionally compromised by his past.

As far as he knew, his parents didn’t love him enough to clean up their fucking acts, did they?

Any note of affection had him worrying in the back of his head, because any touch, any feeling he had that was remotely positive was always temporary. He wouldn’t be promised a forever. The one good thing he had that came close to it was his family, but eventually they’d all have their own lives to lead. Eventually, like after he graduated, he’d be moving out and working full-time and even _then_ it wouldn’t feel quite so permanent anymore when he wasn’t waking up to Shane’s makeshift breakfasts and Sami’s eloquent dinners.

One day, he’d be alone again.

“It isn’t like you _have_ to get one,” Sami assuaged then, patting his brother’s shoulder when it seemed like he was trapped in his head again. Sami to the rescue. “And even if you do, it doesn’t always mean you have to … _do things_ there. Someone’s bound to spike the punch, yeah, so wouldn’t you want to sleep it off at a hotel?”

Blinking the rest of his anxieties away until they were a mere shadow in his thoughts, Dean purses his lips. “I guess. Dunno about what Ro wants, but …”

The nickname slipped out.

Oh _no_.

It wouldn’t have been such a big deal, if not for Sami’s shit-eating grin that he knows, he knows he got from him. _God. Dammit._

“Ro, huh? You don’t do nicknames - must really like him, huh?”

Dean suddenly wishes this conversation could be over, as he pulls his knees up to wrap his arms around and push his burning face into them. “Shut the fuck up, Zayn, I swear--”

But Sami’s indifferent to the threat as he bumps his brother’s side with a teasing elbow. “Dean and Roman sitting in a tree~”

And if Dean suddenly dies from bursting into flames, it’ll all be Sami’s fault.

* * *

School gets progressively easier over the next couple of days, though there’s no shortage of pummeling Owens every time he sees him, or sharing biting - but, surprisingly, not fighting - words with Rollins. Monday, Dean buys the tickets like he promised, and promptly ignores the confused looks he gets because the _who would ever agree to go with you?_ is plainly visible on their faces.

And does that hurt? Honestly? A little bit, but he’s used to it.

* * *

School, work, home. It’s a never-ending cycle, but it’s normal. Dean never passes down normal.

* * *

Thursday: Dean’s day off.

Thursday: Shane’s day off also.

The latter picks the former up from school early, casually spitting out some excuse about an important appointment he has to make, but Dean is completely unaware of the fact that this ‘appointment’ is a fitting. And when he comes to the realization, brown-and-blue’s face is a hilarious motion picture of fear, embarrassment, and then (Shane’s favorite) quiet, embarrassed acceptance.

His father all but drags him into the store and, when he’s asked if there’s anything the clerks can help them with, it’s like he’s been thrown to the wolves.

“Dean’s here to get fitted for a tux.” Little shove.

Bigger shove when he tries to shrink away from greedy fingers.

Sigh.

“Come with us, sir, we’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” says an older woman with eyes glittering in what Dean would honestly mistake for malice if not for her carefully poised fingers on his bicep.

* * *

They walk out of the shop tuxedo-less, but after there’s an unfortunate run-in with Dean’s temper when someone tries to urge him to shed his pants so they could measure his calves, thighs and hips, they _do_ have to pay a small fee for the broken mirror.

So, shopping trip was a fail, but Shane soothes the raging Dean by taking him to a more casual clothing store.

_“As long as you look nice, I suppose there’s no reason to overpay.”_ Shane had said.

They walked out of that clothing shop much more successful, though his father did have to scold him for almost walking out with a bright-blue suit jacket and matching pants. “Nice. Not tacky.”

How rude.

* * *

It had been a while since he’d had an afternoon with his best friend, and Roman could honestly admit that he’d not been very worried about it the last few weeks; all his life, it had been him and Seth, from the moment they’d met … a couple of boys who met from a business deal gone right and going strong, but. But.

It had also been nice to meet somebody new, somebody like Dean: refreshing, private, an enigma that made his lips tingle with questions he wanted to ask, and lately, tingle with something else.

He cared a great deal about Dean Ambrose, but lately, he’d had all his time. Roman could own up to his own mindlessness when it came to Seth, but it wasn’t like he ever said anything. That he’d heard, anyway. But he had been texting Dean, and talking over the phone with Dean over the past few days constantly, and since he’d be spending the next weekend with him at prom, well… he had a lot to make up for.

“So. What movie you wanna go see?” Seth’s voice piped up from beside Roman, fingers tucked into the pockets of his skinny jeans; Roman had never seen the practicality of the form-fitting clothes his best friend had always worn, but he always figured ‘to each their own’. If Seth was comfortable wearing him, it didn’t matter what he thought. Even if he teased him relentlessly about how they only accentuated that he had no ass.

Even if he did.

But that was beside the point.

Looking up from his phone screen, where he had looked up what movies were going to be playing, he fixed Seth with a look that resembled frustration; there wasn’t anything playing outside of a couple of romantic comedies, some thriller, a cartoon… he was in the mood for something else, some action or stuff blowing up. Those other things didn’t really tickle his fancy, and when the other saw the look on his face, he only laughed.

“Not anything I wanna see,” Roman responded, showing the other the screen so that he could read through it himself. He seemed to hum thoughtfully, maybe at the thriller, but the Samoan took his phone away before he could dwell on that. “Could always just stay in and turn on Netflix. I can order some take-out.”

That seemed to lighten the other’s mood, Rollins nodding enthusiastically; they had taken refuge in the finished basement, where there was a big-screen TV and a wrap-around couch. Roman had gotten out of work early and Seth hadn’t any homework to do, so at Roman’s request they had bundled up in the basement and tried to plan out what they should do to make up for lost time.

Flashing his friend a grin, Roman stands up and starts punching in the number for the Chinese place, ordering enough for the two of them. Seth’s never eaten quite as much as he had, even now, wanting to keep a lean figure, but he goes right ahead and orders himself something beefy slathered in sauce. Hanging up his phone and walking right back toward the couch, he sits back against it and places his phone between them.

“45 minutes. Let’s get somethin’ started, here.”

* * *

The movie held maybe half of the Samoan’s attention, because about halfway through, he got a text message from Dean.

He had been tempted not to answer it, but Seth, around a mouthful of rice and vegetables, pointed with his fork toward the buzzing between them. Uttering a small apology, he picked up the phone and punched in his password before he saw that the message was a picture message.

Butterflies swam in his stomach for maybe a moment - he doubted it was a dirty picture, but when hadn’t a picture message been one? They had been with his ex. Pursing his lips and opting to open it anyway, he breathes out slowly as he sees the light-brunet standing in a black suit jacket, unbuttoned with a pale blue dress shirt underneath. It’s only from the waist up, and Roman hopes to God he isn’t wearing jeans, but doesn’t think that thought for more than a few seconds before his eyes float up to look at his face.

Dean’s hair is pushed back a little, exposing his pale forehead, his eyebrows raised and eyes big and looking a little too innocent. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, he’s sure he sees it, and it makes his own lips pull into a smile.

“Wha’s that?” Seth isn’t the type of guy to look over his shoulder, but he’s far from not-nosy, and Roman looks at him as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Pursing his lips, eyes wide slightly, gray flicks back to the screen before huffing a sigh.

“Dean sent me a picture.”

“Ambrose? What’s _he_ doing sending _you_ pictures?”

The way he says it is enough to make the Samoan’s hackles rise, his voice reaching a low rumble. “He asked me to prom, and he sent me what he’s wearin’. What have you got against him anyway, huh? He’s a good dude, man, if you’d just--”

“I don’t need your goodie-good character speech, Rome. I’ve known him for a long time. He ain’t the guy you think you know, and you’d know that if you paid any attention.”

“To what? Look, I like him a lot. So, he’s got secrets? So do I. So do you. We don’t have to tell each other everything when I’ve only known ‘im for like, a month. What’s the big deal? _What have you got against him?_ ”

Seth rolled his eyes, letting out a groan of frustration, and Roman reached across to swat him behind the head. “Hey!”

“Tell. Me.”

“Ugh, fine!” Reaching forward to grab the remote, he pauses the movie, setting his food on the small table in front of them. Crossing his arms like an obstinate child, pouting like one too, he glares at his jean-clad thighs. “I mean, there’s the time he attacked me when we were younger - broke my arm and bit me and beat me ‘til I was bloody! He’s a fuckin’ lunatic, and he gets off on it all, too, like- he belongs in a fuckin’ asylum, man, that shit ain’t normal.”

Roman processes this, but isn’t buying that it’s the complete story. “Is that your piece? That’s why you won’t give him a chance?”

“Hell yeah!” he says, as if the answer should be obvious. Rollins reaches back forward to grab the remote when his friend doesn’t say anything else, presses play, picks up his food.

All Roman does is stare for a few more seconds before he types back:

_Looks good ;)_   
_Think you could be ready for a date in an hour?_

He doesn’t put his phone back down until he gets the reply, which is immediate, but he can’t bring the smile on his lips to his eyes.

**hell yeah.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Roman's got questions, and Dean's got the answers. But, is Roman ready to hear Dean's piece? The real question here, though, is... WHAT SHOULD I HAVE FOR DINNER because technically it's Saturday but it's 12:30AMish and I haven't eaten in a long while and I'm hungry but also not but know that I can't just not eat for another like nine hours LOL. 
> 
> ALSO. I made a poll on my FFnet profile (same name as this one) regarding this fic. So, please take a look and determine the ending to this wonderful fic. (What? Cookie's gonna finish something? HOLY SHIT.) I'm gonna keep the poll up for about a week, and whichever choice gets more votes, that'll determine whether or not I'm writing the last couple of chapters or not. o:

"So. Mind tellin' me what we're doin'?" Dean's voice is light, quiet, as he gets into Roman's SUV, blue eyes twinkling in the lamplight outside; he's wearing a fitted tee shirt, his leather jacket and jeans, his usual, but his hair is dripping underneath a dark beanie. His lips are pulled up in a curious grin, leaning himself forward a bit to catch the look on the Samoan's face, which is nothing but a bit forced in the slight smile on his own lips.

Trying to remain nonchalant, Roman shrugs. "It's almost dark, and I know a spot where you can see the whole town." He has every intention of talking to Dean, really talking, figuring out the parts that Seth didn't tell him - the two-toned was smart, yeah, he was a lot of things. But of those things, he was also a little conniving, sneaky. A little self-important, like his parents were sometimes. He had his flaws, too, so he couldn't quite believe that he was getting the whole story. Over the course of the last month or so since knowing the light-haired, he came to trust him, and inwardly hoped that it was a mutual trust.

The Samoan drives, the two sharing idle conversation: how their past few days had been respectively, school, work - light topics that kept the ride comfortable.

It's not until they get to the spot - on top of a hill they could have hiked, but had a road for cars to drive up to - and the dark-haired leads Dean to a bench with a perfect view of the darkened horizon, glittered with stars just barely visible over the lights of the streets, that Roman heaves a sigh and finds himself looking at the side of Dean's face. (And trying not to get distracted by how good he looks in these clothes, comfortable, hair curling over the rim of the beanie into little light curls…)

"Hey."

Dean looks over, relaxed, maybe a little lazy. "Hi."

_So, I was hanging out with Seth today-_ that didn't seem like a good conversation starter. Not when Dean didn't like his best friend, but he wanted to know _why_ exactly - their stories matched somewhat, but there were parts he could almost hear were supposed to be in them that were intentionally taken out. It isn't that he's curious by the other anymore, no. He's a little concerned at this point, hoping it's not what it seems, _knowing_ that there's more on Dean's side, because since he'd known him, Roman saw that he didn't just get mad at people.

A lot of people earned that anger.

But he couldn't hide anything, make Dean question what they could be because Roman wants to be secretive, too. The air around them suddenly becomes supercharged as they remain quiet, which the other picks up on, expression turning from lazy to concerned to hesitant. "Uh… you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just - I got in a little argument with Seth today." It wasn't exactly a lie, he _did_ argue with Seth.

The hesitance rolled off of Dean like tidal waves, like he didn't want to know, but he asks, "About what?" anyway.

Stretching his arm out over the back of the bench, fingers close enough to grip onto the other's jacket, but he doesn't. Chewing on his lip for a second, he levels gray with blue; the last thing he wants to do is make the other feel like he shouldn't be comfortable, and he watches as Dean squirms on the seat, shoulders rolling and fingers starting to drum on his knees.

So, he goes for it. "About you."

Several emotions run over Dean's face, but finally it settles on something resembling caution. "What _about me_."

Holding his hands out in an effort to calm him, the Samoan purses his lips. "Now, now- it wasn't anything bad. Actually…" he's not sure if he's blushing… but, his face feels really, really warm in that moment. "…actually, I told him that I really like you."

There's a stutter in the face Dean's making, a hitch in his breath, before he stops squirming at least, eyes growing wide and a little vulnerable. "What-"

"I told him I liked you, and asked him why he couldn't give you a chance - 'cause I want my boy and my best friend to get along, ya know?" Dean nods a little dumbly, and he keeps going, "But he talked about how you attacked him and all, he uh, he called you a 'lunatic'-" the light-haired flinches at the nickname, "-sorry, D. I just didn't think he gave me the whole story. His parents and mine have always been civil with each other, but as businessmen, my father doesn't completely trust his because of how quick he is to find a back door and turn things around so they're good for himself."

Dean chews on the inside of his cheek, eyes still a little wide.

"So… I was thinkin'. Maybe you could tell me? I got the feeling he was holding somethin' back, and I haven't known you as long as he has, but you don't just go and attack people for no reason." Dean had told him that, when they went to the gym, and Roman believed him now more than he did then.

Brown-and-blue breaks the other's gaze for a minute, letting the information soak in, before his eyebrows furrow slightly. Picking his head back up, he purses his lips, heaving a sigh.

"So… I had a lotta foster homes before Shane adopted me … and none of 'em treated me that great. But I always ended up at the Helmsley's house after, and Seth was one'a the only kids who didn't beat me up. I mean, not for very _long_ , but he kinda became the only kid who came within a foot of me.

"I came from a bad place - slummy, dirty, poor - and I confided a lot to that scumbag." He doesn't go on to say what, exactly, and Roman doesn't push. That's a conversation they can have in another context, on another day. Reaching forward with a steady hand, he rubs his thumb over Dean's shoulder, eyes entirely too patient, but it somehow does what he intended as the light-haired sighs.

"My mom had a drug problem. The kinda problem where sometimes I didn't get to eat dinner 'cause she used that week's paycheck for dope. When she wasn't gettin' high, she was out on the streets, sellin' her body, somehow managin' to pay the bills. Fuckin' _God_ knows what happened to her after I left. But I got taken outta there by social services real fuckin' quick when people realized the situation she'd put me in, ya know?

"So, Rollins knew all'a that, and then some, and when I got back he and the other kids kinda gave me enough time to get settled back in my own shitty cubbyhole of a bedroom before he started askin' me what I did to come back, then all the other kids started talkin' about if I'd done drugs, how I fucked it up 'cause 'the Callihans have saved a lotta kids from the streets, so they should'a been able to save me too'.

"He'd told them all everything. They all high-fived and I was fuckin' mad because he told me he'd never tell anybody, but he told them all and smiled all big like he'd done somethin' real great like win a medal or something. So I yelled at him, ( _"Why, Seth_ _, why did you tell them, you swore you wouldn't!"_ ) and then he fuckin' joined them in beatin' the crap outta me. He said I wasn't good enough to be friends with him anymore, said that he couldn't be friends with street trash."

Roman's face went through a lot of emotions while the other talked, but when he took a breath, presumably to let that information sink in, he leaned forward to place a kiss on the other's forehead. "Dean, I'm so sorry - and your dad? Where was he at?"

"Tch. Never knew 'im. Think he was one'a mom's clients, he knocked her up, and she never knew who it was so didn't bother to tell anybody."

"Oh, God," the Samoan says quietly; he had a big family, never mind the ones that lived under one roof. He couldn't imagine what it could have been like.

"Don't be sorry, Ro," pale lips pulled up in a slight grin, "I got outta there, I got outta the Helmsley's. Shane adopting me saved my life. I've got a good family now," _I've got you_ , "a good brother and I get to beat the crap outta Seth anytime I want. Plus, he can't really escape me, since we're technically paper-cousins." The way he said that made Roman chuckle before he reached up to ruffle his hair.

"I knew he wasn't telling me everything. Thanks. For telling me, I mean."

Dean shrugs. "Ain't like I wasn't gonna tell you eventually. Guess Rollins can be useful after all."

This time, when Roman laughs, he throws his head back, and he hears Dean laugh too. It's a sharp sound, a little hoarse, but it makes warmth spread through his veins.

And he thinks he might just love it.

* * *

He doesn't realize he's doing it at first, but Dean's been counting down the days until prom night after that night on the bench; ever since they had met, Roman had been pulling bits of himself he'd thought he'd lost in the many years of abuse and loneliness out of the shadows, and not only that, but had been beating back those same shadows with a stick, and no one had ever done that for him before.

At first, he didn't like it. He didn't like that the Samoan had made himself at home deep within his very soul, feet planted, hands healing, eyes warming, lips caressing. And honestly, the light-haired wasn't sure if it was a slow progression to the point where he just got _used to it_ , or if he was accepting it because he _liked it_ , or maybe some concoction of both. Lord knew he liked the feeling of being wanted, in a manner that was different than the way Shane and Sami enjoyed his company.

But as he sits in his bedroom, legs sprawled out across the bed, hands folded over his stomach which was partially exposed by his raked-up tee shirt, he has something like an epiphany. Some _grand_ realization that maybe, _maybe_ … this is what being _loved_ felt like.

He can't say for sure, doesn't want to get his hopes up… but, he's pretty sure he feels the same way, if that's what this is.

And, what was probably the most surprising part, the part that had him questioning himself more than the feelings themselves… was that he was actually feeling pretty good about it, about what his heart was saying, how for once, his head and his heart were on the same damned page.

_T-minus 9 days._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good times were good while they lasted... and that's just about all I'm gonna say about this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (Next chapter will be a little late - I'm doing NaNo2K16 so there's no telling if I'll have enough focus to get Ch17 up on time. I won't even say 'I'll try' because NaNo has to have so much of my attention.)

For every day that passed, Dean made a bold, green ****X****  on his calender, feeling this tight, rumbling feeling in his stomach every time the green mark inched closer to the circled Saturday square, marked _PROM._  The more important part - the clothes, what he was doing with his hair, how he was gonna get there - was mostly taken care of, planned in advance.

A couple of days ago, Roman had called him up and said that Cesaro had cleared him to take the car - and funny, he’d almost forgotten about it, things had been so light and goddamn sunny lately - and the two of them had gone to pick it up before spending a lazy afternoon at Dean’s house. Or, moreover, in Dean’s room.

Dean decided, after that time and the times before that, that his favorite thing was kissing Roman.

Things get better after they get worse, as he’d always heard, and he’d fallen back into a steady rhythm of school, work and social life-- well, and Roman. Half the time, he insisted they drag others along, even begrudgingly allowing the Samoan to bring Seth as long as the younger promised to behave himself.

_‘cause I’m always well-behaved. _

One night in particular, on a night where everyone was off from work and their homework was ( _probably_ ) done, Dean and Roman, Seth, and Sami all went out; Sami, despite not having a date lined up for the occasion, had decided to go to prom anyway, and Seth had asked the drill team captain Sasha, so they had to stop by a few shops to rent out any remaining tuxes or dressy clothes that were available, so they’d all piled into Roman’s SUV.

(Dean and Seth argued most of the way about who would sit in the passenger’s seat. Roman, annoyed, told them that _neither_  of them could and had enjoyed Sami’s enthusiastic talk about ska music the entire way.)

Near the end, though, things had seemed to mellow out, at least between Dean and Seth; they’d probably never be on perfectly good terms, but Dean could act civil, as long as the two-toned wasn’t being an antagonistic prick. Which, in the presence of the Samoan, seemed to be less of an issue than the light-haired had imagined. Finally, _finally,_ Dean gets to have the front seat to his and Sami’s house, and just as he’s about to climb into the seat, he feels Roman’s entire body go rigid, the interior of the vehicle shifting.

“Ro? What’s the matter?”

“Rome?”

Seth’s voice, more nasally than Dean’s, cuts the invisible cord keeping Roman’s attention away from his passengers, and as he turns gray eyes to brown and then to blue again, his expression is guarded, a little frustrated. “Look over my shoulder.”

Dean’s body jerked, eyes narrowing, teeth gritting in a scowl before he reached around to grip the door handle. Simultaneously, Roman and Sami grabbed him - the former his forearm while the latter wrapped an arm around his neck, leaving just enough room to breathe.

“No way. You’re not going to get yourself in trouble right before prom.”

“Easy, D…”

“I’m gonna kick his ass,” the gravel had grown to the size of boulders, voice low, expression giving a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘if looks could kill’. _Bray fucking Wyatt _.__ Roman’s fingers dug into his arm, pulling him toward him yet not getting him to budge much at all. Seth, beside Sami, had found the source of the other’s anger and was glaring from the back seat.

“Turn around, Rome. He might think you’re someone else if he can’t see your face.”

The loss of Roman’s fingers on his arm stills Dean, makes him look back at Roman with a dulled version of his previous expression as the Samoan makes quick work of taking his hair down from its ponytail and brushing his fingers through his hair, dark waves falling over his shoulders before he turns his body around to look at Seth.

There’s a silent conversation they have before the dark-haired slides his eyes over to Dean, and he turns too, Sami pulling his arm back and leaning heavily against the back of the seat.

“Tell me when he’s gone.”

Sami nods.

It’s quiet for all of two seconds, Roman’s breathing low and deep despite not needing to be so, and Dean reaches to grip the back of his neck in his hand, fingers idly rubbing, barely any pressure but the sentiment is there and the Samoan’s lips pull in a tight smile. Blue eyes slide from Sami, to Roman with a soft squeeze of his hand, then to Seth, who looks like he wants to say something.

He isn’t looking at Roman anymore, but at Dean.

“What?”

“Have you always jumped right to violence? ‘s kinda... immature, don’tcha think?”

Dean narrows his eyes at Seth, fingers back to gently grazing over the tan skin of Roman’s neck. “Fuck off. Like you’re one ta’ talk, Rollins. Still sound like you’re whinin’ for somethin’ every time ya talk.”

A burst of electricity zipped between them, the temperature in the car dropping, but having his hand on Roman kept his hand busy. Especially when Seth fired back with:

“At least I don’t have a track record for screwing up people’s lives.”

And, that’s just about all Dean can handle, as the spark of dislike turns to a roaring flame, lighting Dean up all over in the worst of ways, face contorting into something dangerous and cold before he swipes toward Seth, trying to reach for the collar of his shirt to bring him close to a waiting fist.

Roman has a hand clasped over said fist.

“Seth, what the fuck!” his eyes, normally bright and, while not necessarily cheerful or joyful at their ‘control’ state, not quite so stormy, glare at his friend. “You can’t say shit like that. Dean didn’t ruin anyone’s fucking life.” His voice has changed, too, the low timbre of his voice rougher, deeper, like staring down an underwater cavern with no bottom in sight past the dark-blue shadows. “You’re my best friend, dude, and you know how I feel about Dean. I wanted you to _maybe_ , I mean, _sorta _-__  get along, or find some common ground. How could you say that?”

“Don’t act like it’s just _my_  fault!” There’s something defiant in his brown eyes, Dean sees, as his temper oozes out slowly, the longer Roman’s hand is on his. His shoulders are still tense, coiled up, his aggression in need of an outlet if not the whiny brunet in front of him.

Sami’s head is slowly turning over Dean’s left shoulder, and Dean looks, too, sees Bray and his lackeys walking past with absolutely no clue.

What he wouldn’t give to… just…

In the midst of Seth and Roman arguing, Sami’s “He’s gone now,” gets lost in the haze, pulled under the current of the rumbling frustration of Roman and Seth’s argument. However, a few beats of quiet pass afterward, and the former is brought back to some normal state of being when Dean’s fingers loosen from their tight-packed fist and press up into his hand.

“What?”

“Wyatt. He turned the corner a few minutes ago.”

“Oh.”

In a moment of silence that was just too fucking much, Dean turns back around, Roman following, and Sami makes an audible gulp from the back seat. A mumbled “Sorry” is all the Samoan can manage, but the light-haired only looks over at him briefly, a look that reads a very blatant _let’s just go_ and Roman obliges, thankfully.

The rest of the ride after that is quiet, is deep as that fucking underwater cavern again.

_Maybe deeper._

* * *

 Three days and counting.

* * *

Since then, there was a visible difference in Roman.

And, _god_  - that nothing became of Seth’s comment the other day as far as Dean went was nothing short of a miracle. He kind of got over it as quickly as anything else the two-toned had ever spewed in his direction, not really hurting as much as the last thing, or whatever.

He and Roman texted or talked on the phone more than they saw each other in the days leading up to that Saturday, and even then, Roman’s responses were stunted, perhaps a little held back, short and sweet. Not a ‘baby boy’ anywhere, and it made his heart squeeze, suddenly a little down because of it. Not that it showed..

From what he heard in class from people who weren’t quite as close, as Roman was, to Seth, the two had continued to have it out at home, and words were thrown around that probably shouldn’t have been on Seth’s side, but more thrown toward Dean than at Roman. That didn’t bother him. It kind of did that Seth, who sat quiet in the middle of his usual group of friends at lunch, didn’t _once_  come to his own defense.

The stubbornness that usually accompanied the idiot had melted to, perhaps, pride - like he was proud of what had happened. Like he accomplished something, _again_ , and that that ‘something’ managed to be ‘pissing Roman off’ rubbed Dean the _totally_  wrong way.

Roman would never have asked him to, but would Dean fight for his honor anyway? You fucking better believe it.

After school on Wednesday, despite the fact that he had to work, he waited for Seth outside; since he’d gotten the car back, he could get to work in literal minutes from the school, so he could actually burn a good fifteen minutes in that case. (His boss, though, was a fairly understanding kinda guy, knew that Dean was only human and was still in school, and the fact that this would be his first write-up if it were to come to it wouldn’t really hurt him in any way.)

Sure enough.

Rollins was wearing skinny jeans, a pair of neat sneakers, and some band tee shirt - Dean, honestly, couldn’t care less who the band was - with his hair tied up in a bun that looked a bit tousled. Distracted, he seemed, his head angled downward and his hands stuffed in the pocket of his jeans. A few guys waved at him, called out goodbye, and he nodded in their direction but didn’t otherwise say anything.

When he walked past Dean instead of talking right to him, the other opened his mouth to speak, to spew poison-dipped daggers into the other’s face. But, Seth turned around first, spoke first, glared first.

“I hope you’re fucking happy, Ambrose.” When Dean opens his mouth again, to try his hand at being a prick, too, the _actual_  prick continues with “Couldn’t keep your damn nose outta our lives, could ya? Just had to screw him up, too, like ya do everything else in your pathetic, worthless life. Now, Roman’s looking at apartments and I lost my best fucking friend.”

And that… shuts Dean up, actually. A new kind of hurt squeezes his heart like a vice, tight and heavy and _too much, too much._

Seth doesn’t even spare him a second more, turning and stalking off. Not even stomping. No haughty glare over his shoulder, not anything.

_“Just had to screw him up, too.”_

_Didn’t mean to,_ he thinks, taking a few slow steps to the school parking lot to get to his car. It’s the first self-deprecating thought he’s had in months, and he didn’t miss it.

Not one fucking bit.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I finished writing The Scene yesterday. And, for those that follow my Tumblr (same name as this. I mostly whine about wrestling atm) and saw that post whining 'ow' ... I'll just reiterate that statement with a louder 'Ow', because I had to re-read that shit to edit it. I'm kind of an ass. But you'll all love it (probably). 
> 
> This is just a getting to point B from A sorta chapter. Plus, some comforting!Dean. Enjoy!

Dean got out of work when the sun had sunk below the horizon, practically dripping in sweat and putting to good use the beanie he kept stashed in his locker; the problem with working in that warehouse in the summer was that it got so unbearably hot inside it, with the furnace running and people crowding the building, unfortunately he was usually the one to leave with sweat-soaked clothing.

Of course, that’s why he kept extra clothes in his car, but he just didn’t feel like changing. He wanted to get home, half-ass his homework, and call Roman.

If it were him, he’d want space after fighting with his best friend. But, he’d also, _kind of _,__ want somebody to give him comfort, too. He wasn’t a mushy guy, didn’t know a lot of the right words to say, but he didn’t mind the touching, pressing a palm against the Samoan’s neck.

The drive back home was quiet, tense; the kind of quiet he didn’t like spending inside a car, his fingers tapping on the wheel, some beat only he could make sense of, and it continued when he pulled into the driveway.

As he walked inside, backpack slung over his shoulder, he takes off the beanie with a rough jerk, tossing it and peeling off his shirt to put into the hamper. A muttered _Ew_  leaves his lips as he looks down at his chest, sticky and shiny with drying sweat, and he stalks upstairs to his bedroom, taking out a pair of shorts and a tank top.

First up was a shower.

“Hey, Dean,” Sami popped into his door, completely nonplussed that Dean wasn’t wearing a shirt, bright smile on his face. However, when he sees his brother’s expression - uncomfortable from the sweat and grime all over his body, tense because of his confrontation with Rollins - the smile falters. Considering how long it’d been since said smile fully lit up his face to his eyes, Dean felt just a little bit bad about that. “You alright? Did Seth--”

“Seth is gonna get his fuckin’ ass beat,” grit out the light-haired, fixing his brother with a narrowed glare, but Sami knew it wasn’t really aimed at him. That’s why, when Dean pushes past him with his clothes in his arms with a shove of his shoulder, the other says nothing, only huffs slightly.

“So, I guess he did find you, then. He said he was going to. So, is it true?”

“Is _what_  true?”

Sami fidgets. Then, “That he and Roman had a fight. That Roman’s going to move out.”

And honestly, as much as Dean doesn’t like Seth, he kind of wishes it wasn’t. “I don’t know. I wasn’t there, but after I shower, I intend to find out.”

“Good. That’s good.” Then, the smile returns, this time with an impish edge to it. “I bet Dad would let him stay here. He likes him too much to let him stay where he doesn’t want to be.”

“Does Shane know?” for some reason, there’s a shrillness to his voice, a slight panic gripping his chest.

Sami blinks, an innocent look on his face. “I didn’t say anything. And he doesn’t really talk to Stephanie that much.” Despite them being siblings, they didn’t really get along very much, so that filled him with a small ounce of relief. Of course, that meant that he couldn’t really escape from the whole ordeal in the first place - Shane would find out. He always finds out.

(That also meant that Rollins couldn’t escape from _Dean._ )

Sami left him to his shower, the majority of it thoughtful as he let the just-below-scalding water wash away the day’s troubles. Hands worked over his body, fingers kneading into the hard muscle of his shoulders, releasing some of the tension and uttering a groan when he felt it ease away.

Washing his hair was a much quicker affair - he didn’t so much scrub at it as he did run soapy fingers through it over and over again until the water ran clean down the drain.

He shuts off the water, steps out of the shower, and wraps a towel around his hips before he bent downward, digging his cell phone out of his jeans pocket and placing it on the edge of the sink. Wiping his palm on the towel, he presses his fingers on the keys, getting into his messages and sighing when he saw he had no new messages. One hand held onto the towel, his mouth scrunching up in frustration before he went into his long thread with Roman.

_are you okay?_

After he sends it, he can’t help but wince, because he can’t imagine he is. This squeeze in his chest makes it hard for him to breathe as he awaits an answer, but as he does, he gets himself dried off and dressed: first his briefs, then his baggy shorts and then, as he’s putting on his tank top and chances a look at his phone in what he’ll promptly ignore is concern, it buzzes.

Tugging his tank top on one-handed isn’t that difficult, but doing so while his eyes stay trained on the phone brought closer by his other hand is a little, and when he opens the message, he feels something similar to a punch in the stomach.

Because what he’s expecting is _very_ different from what he gets.

****No.** **

Gathering his clothes up into his arms, he types back his reply one-handed, thumb slower but lips mouthing the words he wants to type. Dropping his dirty clothes directly into the washer, he stalks to the living room and throws himself - quite literally, it’s an uncoordinated mess of long legs and drops of water swinging everywhere from his hair - onto the love seat and ignoring Sami’s groan of “I was gonna sit there!”

What he manages to type back is: _do you want me to leave you alone?_ And honestly, Dean would leave him alone and not be that upset over it, because losing someone you thought cared about you is hard and hurts a lot, so he’d understand. He’s been there plenty of times, and each time felt just as terrible.

This answer comes a lot faster.

****No.** **

And he knew where Seth lived - could get there with his eyes closed - but wasn’t sure if he wanted to see Seth yet; oh, he’d see him. Tomorrow. He was going to make his life hell all over again, whether he got sent to detention or whatever. Because, when it came down to it, this was so much bigger than his own betrayal, so many years ago, the likes of which he’d long-since gotten over. Sort of. (Mostly.)

Sami holds out a plate of roasted chicken breast and pan-fried vegetables to Dean, to which he sits up and reaches out with his thumb and finger and drops a stringy red pepper into his mouth, not at all bothered by how hot it is and only managing a chuckle at Sami’s shocked “It’s hot, dumb ass!” before typing back, one-handed:

_are you there by yourself, or_

_cuz I can be there in like, two minutes_

The answer is even faster.

****My parents aren’t home ;)** **

And yeah, he’s aware that that was sort of a jibe, a tease, and there’s hope that maybe Roman’s doing alright, better than he had, better than he thought. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he gets up to go to the kitchen. At Sami’s questioning voice, he calls, “I’m goin’ over to see Roman for a lil’ while. I don’t think I’ll be long, I ain’t exactly welcome in Rollins’ house.”

“Bring over some food for Roman, yeah? There’s plenty of extra.”

Nodding and trying not to smile even if Sami couldn’t see through the wall separating them, he gets out two containers, slicing the chicken and putting it on a bed of the vegetables before stuffing both into a plastic shopping bag. Grabbing his car keys and swinging them around a finger, he calls out “Be back later!”

* * *

 The first thing he notices about Roman when he gets there is how worn-out he looks; not that he’s the picture of vibrancy, but usually there’s a sparkle in his eye, a warmth to his tan skin that the other can pinpoint almost immediately. It’s just as easy to spot how poorly he feels: the frown that drags his whole face down, his slow movements. How hard he tries to hide it all.

But Dean sees everything.

They eat in silence, save the Samoan’s occasional sniffles, and when they’re finished, Dean takes the containers away and lays back against the headboard, beckoning the larger man over, to which he slugged over and dropped a kiss onto Dean’s forehead. Closing his eyes, the light-haired sighs through his nose before he pulls Roman down, wrapping his arms around his head and hugging him close.

“Ya know,” Dean says, softly into dark hair, strands of it sticking to his dry lips. “I dunno how quick you wanna get outta here, but uh. I’m sure Shane--”

“As much as I appreciate it, baby boy,” and _that_ , despite it being the start of a ‘no’, makes his face brighten anyway. “I got it. I had money saved up for a place already, plus the money I’ve made since I’ve been here. I got enough to get me a decent apartment.”

Loosening his arms, blue eyes peer down to see gray looking back, a warm look in his eyes - again, there’s this look in his eyes, some unasked question, and if he were any other person Dean _might_  have asked what it was, but he _was_  himself and he would much rather let the other come to him. Roman grins slightly, a glimmer of light in his eyes, before he sits up.

“I was gonna hole up in a hotel though, first, maybe get more money, gather my bearings. After prom, you wanna come back with me?”

A quirk of his lips, then “Yeah. Sure.”

And Roman’s smile then, it makes Dean’s chest flutter. But when he leans down to press soft lips to his own, the fluttering calms down, evens out, and he finds himself a little curious about that.


	18. Chapter 18

_0 days and counting._

Prom.

Well, the day _of_  prom.

Since it was toward the end of the year - and, soon after prom weekend, it would be senior finals, and then he’d be fucking _outta there_ \- Dean and Sami didn’t have to worry about any homework at the time being, so much of that Saturday was spent lounging; Sami did end up finding a someone to go to prom with, as friends, so he was chattering excitedly on the couch about how he was glad he ended up getting dress clothes anyway.

Shane, oddly, didn’t have work today, so he was spending a lot of time with his sons, discussing plans, exchanging advice. It wasn’t the least bit subtle with he looked over his shoulder to check for the all-clear before trying to stuff a box of condoms into Dean’s jacket, but he’d been caught by said young man, red-faced and howling about how _embarrassing_  he was and how he could live to be so insufferable.

And of course, his father just laughed and said, too seriously, _just in case, Dean._

Yeah. Just in case.

* * *

Around 3:30PM, Dean got a text from Roman, stirring him out of a nap he hadn’t meant to take.

 **Hey baby boy**  
**You excited for tonight?**

And yeah, he really was; the past few months, there hadn’t been a whole lot to be excited about. His one true goal was to graduate high school, not to spend another _fucking_  year here because he messed up in or out of school.

_“Just had to screw him up, too.”_

But he found it a lot easier to roll with the punches this time around - had somewhere to vent his frustrations, or to channel those feelings, had someone to help him through it. A part of Dean was pretty sure he’d never be able to repay Roman, because honestly, a lot of stuff had turned out to be much easier with him around; school was much easier to handle when he had a support like Roman’s, his temper was tamped down on before it could surface.

The shadows of his mind, the ones that almost claimed him in the form of caution and distrust and hate, were chased away by the very light that shone from Roman’s fingertips, his smile, his eyes. The cold darkness that used to grip him at night, warmed by the heated touches of the Samoan who always seemed to be emanating heat like a walking flame.

Burning, not scalding.

A soft look crossed Dean’s face, almost peaceful, as he typed back.

 _yeah._  
_fingers crossed that someone spikes the punch ;)_

A laugh, quiet and raspy, follows after Roman’s next reply.

**Dean no.**

“Dean yes,” he mutters to himself, smirk dragging his lips up, ignoring the confused expression of Shane across the room.

* * *

5:00PM.

A steamy bathroom, body clean, face clean-shaven and smooth - Dean stands before the mirror, blue eyes big and bright, his lips pursed tight in a straight line; the sudden realization that he was getting ready for his first and, at the same time, last prom ever was kind of settling in, his stomach swirling with nerves despite him not being that anxious about it.

Not the dance, anyway.

Tonight, when he walked inside the threshold of the venue, he wouldn’t be by himself - if he would be, well, he _wouldn’t_  be worried at all, now would he? Since he wouldn't be bothering to go at all - but would be standing beside Roman _freaking_  Reigns. Someone who, in actuality, was marvelously out of his league, shouldn’t have to deal with someone like Dean _fucking_ Ambrose. Students would stare (at Roman) and make faces (at Dean) and honestly, Roman probably didn’t know what he was getting into.

Nerves, suddenly, seemed like a fucking _blessing_  compared to what he was feeling.

“Come on, Dean!” Sami’s voice echoed down the hallway, urging Dean to tear his eyes away from the mirror long enough to realize that he was still standing with only a towel around his narrow waist. Blinking blearily, he makes quick work of drying himself off haphazardly before tossing the towel away, immediately grabbing his briefs and slipping them on.

Ugh… his thighs were a little too thick for his body, and… ugh, his _waist_ and… now was really not the time to realize just how oddly-shaped he was. Running his hands along his hips and huffing to himself, he slipped his dress pants on and then his short-sleeve collared button-up shirt. The pale blue color is pretty close to the color of his eyes, and somehow it makes them bluer.

Reaching onto a shelf nearby for a bottle of hair gel, and finding his own eyes in the mirror again and swiping a hand over it to make it easier to see, he sees the way his hair curls in unruly curves on his forehead, and he furrows his brow before popping the bottle open.

A decent amount is squeezed into his palm and, putting the bottle onto the sink, he rubs the gel between his palms before rubbing it into his hair, pushing it back, smoothing the normally untamed light-brown locks flat and neat, his hair long enough to flip behind his ears a little bit. It’s not a terrible look, even if he rather liked his ‘just rolled out of bed’ vibe, felt comfortable looking unkempt. But, he didn’t mind this, enough that he might slick his hair back again unprompted.

After washing his hands of the shiny gel, Dean slips on the black suit jacket and buttons it up partway, enough that the blue peeks out. Rolling his shoulders, trying to press some of the tension out of his body before he kicks the dirty laundry into the corner and pressing his hands over his sleek figure… hands passing over the box that had been pushed into one of the inner pockets but not moving to take it out. Only rolled his eyes, shakes his head, before opening the door and exiting to walk toward the door.

The night before, Dean had packed his backpack with an extra change of clothes, his phone charger, his phone and wallet… plus a Ziploc bag filled with more compact necessities, some Advil, a few packets of lube… digging into the inner pocket of his jacket, he takes out the box of condoms and slips that inside the bag as well. He had slipped the tickets into the opposite pocket, and reaching in and making sure the two tickets were there, he sighed in relief.

“Sami! Let’s go!”

“Coming!”

His brother didn’t clean up too badly, either: he’d trimmed his beard down a bit, neatened it up, combed his hair neatly; he dressed a little more straight-edge than Dean, opting for a sharp tux, a splash of pink tie tucked under his chin and, the older brother nodded approvingly, it made the red of his hair and warm tone of his eyes seem much more vibrant, the way he looked. Sami tucked himself into the little black car, Dean into the driver’s seat.

Sami would be meeting his date there.

That meant that they would have to drive over to Roman’s hotel room to pick him up.

From the porch, Shane waved, a big grin on his face. “Don’t forget to take pictures! I expect you and Roman to dance, too, Dean!”

“Oh my _god_ ,” groaned Dean, who fought every urge to drag his hands through his hair in frustration because damn it, he’d _just_  done it. “Bye!”

They backed up slowly, Sami laughing the entire way, before the sound of the radio filled the space inside the car, every once in a while Sami saying something offhandedly, light, making the tension ooze out of Dean a little more.

* * *

But, hoo boy.

The minute Dean knocked on the door of the room - 007, which made him internally laugh, because with how clean-cut he looked right now, he might as well be in a Bond movie - the tension had started to come back. What was going to be on the other side?

The door opened. Dean… gasps, eyes a little wide, looking the Samoan up and down.

Roman was wearing a suit similar to Dean, except instead of black and blue, it was a dark gray with a white dress shirt underneath. His hair, long and black, was pulled back in a sleek bun, and he’d trimmed his facial hair to a neat goatee. The gray of his eyes was like billowing smoke, a glimpse of the fire burning inside that man, and when his eyes look Dean up and down briefly, he pulls his face in for a soft kiss - light, no weight in it at all, just a graze of skin before he commented, “You didn’t wear jeans.”

“No shit,” Dean raised an eyebrow, a hint of a grin on his face. Reaching for Roman’s hand in a dramatic, theatrical gesture, he pressed, “Let’s go, Charming.”

The smile on Roman’s lips sharpened to a smirk and he grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together before he reached behind him to close the door.

Suddenly, Dean didn’t feel quite so worried. As Roman’s fingers fit perfectly in the spaces between his own, thumb idly rubbing along his skin… he felt surprisingly calm.

Sami had moved to the back seat while they made their way back to the car, and laughing lightly as he got into the car, Roman leaned over his shoulder and grinned. “Look nice, Sami.”

“You too, Roman!”

Dean gets in, looks between them as if waiting for something, before he started the car again and backed out of the space.

His younger brother chuckles. “Dean, you look good too.”

“Ah, see, Ro? I look _good _.__  You’re only _nice _.__ ”

One dark eyebrow raises in amusement, lips pulled down in a mock-frown. “’course he’s gonna say you’re ‘good’, you’re his _brother_.” Frown turned to smirk once more, as Roman took in the curve of one smooth cheek, sharp angles of Dean’s jaw and it looked like he was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. Corner of his lips quirked up, he says, “But, you’re my boy, and I think you look _great _.__ ”

“Great. Can’t compete with your _boy_ , Dean, can I?”

And huh, look at that - Dean might pass out from all the blood rushing to his face all at once.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much else to say except I love this chapter. some stuff is finally brought into knowing and I think y'all are gonna be real happy about it. thanks for the continued comments and kudos and stuff! 
> 
> (also, there are 3 actual quotes that Roman has said, and they are painfully obvious. I'm not even sorry.)

When Dean pulled into the parking lot, there was an array of colors standing outside the large hotel, girls in pretty dresses and guys in tuxes, a great majority of them in suits that looked more like they were trying out-ridiculous each other. Finding a place to park is difficult, so he chooses the large parking lot across the street from a shopping mall, and they walk across the road together, Sami jogging ahead to meet up with his date.

Roman slipped his hand over Dean’s, which had balled into a fist, fingers warm and firm around the latter’s in a gesture that was nothing but comforting. A buzz hummed under his skin at that, and blue eyes slid to look into gray, which were looking ahead, confidence oozing out of every pore of his tan skin, and it only makes the buzzing grow louder.

Well… at least _Roman_  was feeling good.

The doors are set to open soon, but for now, all of the students are standing around socializing, laughing, showing off their dates and their outfits and cat-calling each other across the parking lot. Relaxing his fist, Dean slips his fingers through Roman’s, finds comfort in the squeeze that follows, before the Samoan pulls him close.

In the distance, someone was watching them.

Dean, curious, looks at Roman’s face, then follows where it’s currently pointed; Seth is standing there, a girl with pink hair on his arm, rocking a purple dress that’s about knee-length. He’s enough of a good distance away that he can’t hear what they’re saying, can’t see the expression on his face clearly, but he’s looking over, probably more at Roman than at Dean.

The brunet takes his hand back, but clutches onto Roman’s shoulder, leaning his body into him and perhaps leaning a bit more when he feels the Samoan’s hand on the small of his back. “You tell me when and I’ll fuck him up for ya, Ro. I’ll chase him around the lot if ya want.”

When Roman answers, his voice is low, rumbling like a growl but lacking danger. “You’re not gonna ‘fuck him up’. I’m all about justice, but tonight? I want it to be about just _us _.__ ”

Dean wrinkles his nose.

“What?” Roman asks, trying to sound serious.

“That was terrible.”

“Says the one who wears jeans literally all the time. You probably wear them in the middle of summer.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “I do not.”

Somewhere, across the parking lot, they hear “Yes he does!” and Roman starts laughing.

“Fuckin’ whadda _you_  know.”

Roman only laughs a little harder.

* * *

It’s not too much longer that the doors open and students are making their way inside. Tucking his hand into his inner pocket, Dean pulls out the two tickets, his other hand once more slid into Roman’s; it kind of did it on its own accord, seeking comfort where it was offered, given openly, and although it wasn’t the most beloved of his subconscious habits, he tended to cling to that. He _was_  clinging to it. And the Samoan didn’t seem to mind, which didn’t confuse him as much anymore.

There was a table off to the side where some of the teachers and Class President John Cena were taking tickets and signing everybody in. Dean pulled Roman toward that line, wanting to get it over with.

And the looks he got, when he steered Roman by the hand toward the table, were a mix of priceless and nerve-wracking - all knowing eyes squinting and staring like _How did Ambrose get a guy like that?_ And the whispers were no easier to stomach, some a little less kind, seeming more affected by Roman’s perfectly content and calm posture around the ‘unstable Ambrose’.

Yep. He’d planned for this. And while he could beat people up at school, in the street, in a back alley… he didn’t really want to do it in front of Roman, not with him holding onto his hand.

Some of the whispers caught Roman’s ears, making his head turn slightly, listening, bristling a little on Dean’s behalf; nostrils flaring a little, jaw tightly clenched like he wanted to say something, but the lack of reaction from the light-haired might have steered him away from that option. But, when the words _someone like him_  and _lunatic_  escaped a rather familiar pair of lips, the Samoan didn’t think twice about wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist, pulling him, fingers grabbing at his hip.

And yeah. Dean jumps a little bit. But he doesn’t move away.

* * *

Before the dancing can commence, first everybody has to eat - the buffet is stocked with hot, fresh food, and waiters are briskly walking around the grand dining room, making sure the tables are set with clean dishes and are looking fresh and clean and neat.

And he’s a little surprised that people want him to sit with them, but the surprise is replaced with something grungier, his hackles rising before he’s even accepted their invitation. From beside him, Roman says, “We don’t have to,” but they kind of do, don’t they? No one else was jumping at the chance to make room as students started filling in the chairs, and as much as he would have liked to sit in a small table in the back somewhere, he walked toward the table.

“Where’d you get a guy like that?” Somebody asked, looking at Dean, but the sound of his voice was more directed at Roman, a kind of _where’d a guy like him get a guy like you?_ tone to the words. Narrowing his eyes, Dean looks up and meets the kid with a frustrated look, stuck between being an asshole and being quiet, and right now, the former was looking to be where he was headed.

Roman piped up first. “What’s off to you is just right to me.”

And the _way_  that he says it… it’s _so_ calm, matter of fact, and it snaps Dean’s anger in two and leaves him scrambling for something to do with his hands, slipping the one in Roman’s out and clamping his fingers together, squeezing underneath the table, waiting for the sting of nails to slice through whatever this was and bring him down from the high of it.

That shuts the other person up, though, hands held up in a placating gesture before they and their date get up move to go to another table…

…only for someone else to sit with them. Looking up, Dean locks eyes with Sami, and some of the pressure built up inside of him seems to lessen, making him sigh through his mouth.

“’sup, kid?”

Raising an eyebrow, Sami is about to answer when another guy sits next to him: pale, dark eyes, lips curled into an easy grin, long hair pulled into a neat ponytail. The hair pulled back does nothing to hide the point to his ears, though. “This is Neville - he’s on the team with me. Neville, this is my brother Dean, and that’s Roman.”

Neville nods in greeting, flashing teeth in a wider smile, before he says, “Are you two…?”

_Together?_

_Are they?_

Apparently, Roman’s left the answering to him this time, and Dean finds himself wishing that maybe he answered this one, too; it’s no less ‘Roman’ that he lets Dean figure it out himself, what he wants, what he wants _from Roman_  specifically, but this was one of those things that he thought maybe Roman would be able to figure out without him. Not that he didn’t want to be with Roman.

That was kind of a moot point by now…

It was just…

The smile on Roman’s face when Dean lifts his eyes to his is encouraging, nothing less than patient, gray eyes looking a little bit hopeful before the light-haired nods.

“Yep.”

Sami looks a little too smug, like he got something out of that admission, and Neville’s smile gets a little easier to stomach when his voice - English accent, easy, bright - says, “Congratulations. You look good together.”

“Ah, yessir!”

Dean moves a hand over his mouth to stop the embarrassed noise from coming out of his mouth.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all ... y'all, y'all, y'all. (I don't have a southern drawl or anything, I just like to say "y'all", even in everyday life) I'm not sure what y'all might have been expecting as far as what "The Scene" could have meant, but it's here. The actual prom is getting underway. 
> 
> (Next update might be pushed another week, since holidays, since my gram is apparently having this Christmas party. So instead of updating next weekend, I'll do it the weekend after, or maybe in-between the two weekends. I'll keep y'all posted if you follow me on Tumblr. Alright. Forward to pain.)

Dinner is a quick and painless affair - a couple of long buffet tables were set up in the front of the Inn’s dining room, just enough tables stretching across the remainder of the room, about eight to ten chairs around each. And each table is packed full of the colorful array of students who’d showed up with their dates; it isn’t the whole class, but enough to comfortably fill the tables, all except for one, where the chaperons (Dean’s pretty sure he sees Mr. Helmsley over there, but he isn’t completely sure) and the principal are gathered around, talking and eating.

At his table are: Sami, Neville, John Cena and his girlfriend Nikki Bella, her twin sister Brie and _her_  boyfriend Daniel, Roman and himself. Dean’s a little glad that his table is one of the few that seats only eight, because they’ve spread the chairs a little bit, having a bit more room to breathe and move. And chatter between them all was fairly light, too - even Dean added his two-cents sometimes, mostly resulting in making either the entire table laugh amiably or frustrating Cena and receiving a nudge by Roman’s knee under the table.

Still, not a terrible start to an otherwise supposedly ‘memorable’ night.

* * *

Dean takes the opportunity to bring Sami to the side while everyone starts filtering back out of the room and headed toward where the festivities would actually commence; in the back of the hotel, a large yellow and white canopy tent had been set up, open walls and a tall roof, with a single buffet table off to the side and a few tables and chairs left out in the open air for people to sit and chill at.

Sami seems to grab for him, too, perhaps a little overwhelmed as the group of teenagers all make their way outside.

“Be smart, ‘kay? I can guarantee someone’s gonna spike that punch, it happens in all the movies--”

“ _Dean… _”__

“--and I ain’t gonna be stickin’ around very long if that’s the case. I’m goin’ back with Roman, remember?”

“I know, I know,” Sami sighs, scratching idly at his trimmed beard, eyes bright. “I wasn’t planning on drinking. Dad says he’d be happy to get me and Neville, so.”

“’kay.”

The four stick together, regardless, the couples sticking to their respective selves, moving with the crowd like a school of fish in a tiny river. The trip takes all of five minutes, but Roman takes Dean’s hand in his again, and simultaneously, the latter feels as if time is speeding up but the air just around them had slowed down.

He’s not used to that yet.

The outside air was still warm, light enough that the outside lights hadn’t been turned on yet, but there was a machine off to the side casting colors onto the floor anyway, ever-changing shapes dancing on the ground. Around that time is when Sami and Neville take off, as well as more than half of the rest of the students, and gather underneath the canopy to start dancing off dinner.

There’s a DJ booth hooked up, speakers on one side but the music is loud enough that it carries easily through the crowd.

On the buffet table - set up more like a bar than anything, with someone preparing cups of punch and soda and someone (maybe one of the student’s parents?) handing off cups to students that go up. The whole theme, from the table covers to the minuscule decorations hanging from the top of the tent, was white, paper - easily disposable.

There were too many people on the dance floor right now to be even remotely comfortable for the light-haired, so Roman led him to one of the tables, content to sit on the sidelines and talk for a while. Of course, they got all of maybe five minutes to themselves before someone sauntered over to them - two-toned brown and bleach-blond. Roman looked up first, moved to stand up, but Dean beat _him_  this time.

“What the fuck d’ _you_  want, Rollins?”

“Ambrose, calm the hell down. I just want to talk to R--”

“Not fuckin’ likely.”

“God, he ain’t your _property!_ ” Seth throws his hands in the air, expression frustrated, but his breath had this underlying stench of cheap beer, just underneath the mouthwash he’d tried to cover it up with. Dean wrinkles his nose, but stands tall, chin up and nose wrinkled in dislike and eyes sharp and blue. “When will you get that, Ambrose? Somebody shows you the smallest bit of kindness, and you sink your damn claws into ‘em! What’s worse, ya got Rome here thinkin’ some Stockholm syndrome-type shit!”

He gestures to Roman, just as aggravated at him. Apparently, their fight was rearing its ugly head here, too. That suited Dean fine - it didn’t look like his usual posse was here with him, and he’d made the mistake of coming over without his date.

(Dean wasn’t about to beat the shit outta someone’s date if they were standing right there. But, it didn’t look like Ms. Banks was paying any attention, talking to some redhead across the tent who had come with some tall, blonde woman.)

“Despite what you think, I can be a nice guy,” yet, the tone Dean’s voice held was anything but ‘nice’, “so I’m gonna give you ‘til the coun’a five to back off, _Sethie-boy_. Go show yer’ date a real nice time.” And there was something he didn’t say, something like ‘and meet me in the parking lot later’, but Seth seemed to get the hint, at least after Dean’s made it to _4._ He fucked right off.

But, when Dean turned back around to fix Roman with a _how’d ya like that?_  grin, he moved to get up and walked around the light-haired.

“R… Ro?”

As Roman passed Seth, he grabbed him hard on the forearm, dragging him - literally- away from his date and back inside the Inn through the door kept open.

There was a moment of hesitation, Dean standing rooted to his spot, eyes watching the two disappear inside and hang a left - back toward the area where they’d eaten; obviously, if Roman had taken the initiative to want to talk things out, Dean should give them privacy, right? However, with Seth a little buzzed, he couldn’t completely trust the two-toned not to try something stupid, whatever that might be.

His feet were already moving by the time he’d made up his mind.

* * *

 If it weren’t for the sounds of angry voices somewhere off in the distance, Dean would have no idea where it was he was supposed to go, but the nasally shouting of that little __weasel__  Rollins was more like a beacon, drawing him around corners and down the hallway until he stopped in the threshold of the empty dining room.

It was mostly Rollins yelling, saying something stupid and Roman turning on him and standing over him, foreboding and unafraid. But then he’d try to move away, turning his back on the guy who used to be his best friend, who he’d left everything behind in Florida to move in with while he finished high school. Words too sharp, too poisonous to be shared between friends echoed in the large room, making Dean wince even if they hadn’t been said to him, before he started inside.

“You always chose him over me!”

Both Dean and Roman stop moving at the same time.

Roman’s voice is thick, emotional. “I care about you both. A real friend would have never made me choose.”

When the dark haired turns back around, intent on going back to Dean who stands there in a mixed state of anger - how could Seth say that, completely shamelessly, to Roman? - and the closest thing to patience he can muster, blue eyes stay on him, body rooted to the spot.

Roman’s words should have been the last ones. Should have hung over Rollins’ head like a fucking storm cloud. But they were not.

Instead:

“Dad always said Sika was naive. I didn’t think you were, too, Rome.”

Roman’s eyes convey pain, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of a fold-up chair slamming into his back. It surprises him, at first, that the blow had come from the only other person standing in the room, behind him, and he falls onto his knees at the sudden burn of the skin at his back.

“Roman!” Dean calls out.

It shouldn’t have been that easy to take the bigger of the two down - but when Roman falls onto his palms and knees a few feet away from Dean, he feels as if he’d taken the chair to the gut, his air supply suddenly cut off, breaths choking out of him before he’s running forward, dragging his hand over Roman’s shoulder, neck… and his eyes widen as they look at Seth.

He’s shocked.

Seth was Roman’s _best fucking friend._

He should be angry.

But he only wants to ask, to demand, _why._

Dean stands and starts in Seth’s direction, but Rollins isn’t done. He digs the chair into his stomach and, when the light-haired hunches over, he feels the chair-shot to the back, and he’s lying belly-down on the floor.

And Roman and Dean aren’t that far away from each other. The dark-haired is only about two feet from Dean, and it should be easy to crawl over there. It should be fucking __easy__  to get back up and fucking _pummel_  Rollins to a fucking bloody pulp, because he had promised Roman he’d be good, because he cared about him too, more than he cared about what Seth had done years ago. More than he cared about anything or anyone else.

A second chair shot into his back and Dean flips over, rolling onto his back and regretting it as Rollins digs the chair _again_  into his stomach. And again, and again. Then, he throws the chair away, nostrils flaring, breathing heavily… and walks away.

As Rollins’ footsteps fade away, Dean deems it safe to move, though all he wants to do is curl up somewhere. But his wounds are the furthest from his mind as he hears a thick sniff from next to him, and he painfully rolls to his hands and knees and makes his way over, resting an arm around Roman’s neck, hugging his head to his chest.

The room echoes with Roman’s sobs, and Dean presses his nose to the top of his head.

Apologies fly out his mouth, waterfalling in Roman’s direction, mixing with the puddle of tears on the wood floor.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, y'all. Long time no see. The holidays kept me swamped and stressed tf out and honestly, I couldn't find the time to write anything let alone update. So! I'm gonna get this updated, work on the next chapter of 'deadbeat' and try to get that up before the end of the December, and we'll see what's going on after that! 
> 
> (I have so many future wip's. It's gonna be great. 'specially because it's more Ambreigns, another RoMox, and an Ambreignee. :D)

Honestly, Roman had a completely different vision for how this was supposed to play out.

It had been made plainly obvious, since the first day that he and Dean had met, that the latter hadn't had the easiest time in his life. People had hurt him, had abandoned him, had made him feel like he was nothing… and he'd like to think that he had shown him that no, that wasn't true. It had been another chance for him to show what he meant to Roman.

He hadn't expected Rollins to shatter their friendship days before prom, but that was fine. He knew his father was a snake when it came to the business world, but when Hunter came home, he was a decent enough guy. Maybe Seth had been the opposite. A decently bright kid, smart, clever - but when it came to him as a person, he was no better than his father in work-mode.

Maybe he should have seen it coming.

So he had insisted on Dean coming back with him after the dance itself - he intended on showing Dean a good night, whether that meant dancing (he didn't think Dean would mind that he virtually had no rhythm) or what might happen afterward, whether that meant ordering take-out and just hanging out, or…

…or.

They were supposed to be stumbling into Roman's hotel room long after dark, maybe all over each other, hands grabbing and lips biting.

Such was not the case.

It was just after eight when he and Dean walked into the hotel room, with Dean supporting as much of Roman's weight as he would allow, one arm swung around his lower back while his other held onto his wrist. The tears were long-gone, leaving a tight dryness on tanned skin, shoulders hunched so as not to put any strain on his back.

His back hurt like _hell._

Dean carefully set him on the bed - one of two, facing a large dresser - and used nimble fingers to unbutton his jacket and dress shirt. There wasn't anything that could be said right now, not by either man, but Roman didn't care. He had nothing to say that would have any meaning behind it.

When Roman's gray jacket and white button-up were stripped off, he gets help taking them off his arms and tosses them to the floor. Of course, the movement and stretching makes him hiss in pain, and Dean inches away to look at the damage.

His breathing is shallow, but there's a rumble to it, like it's equal parts air and a growl.

All he says is, "Rollins is a dead man."

Roman doesn't have the heart to properly respond to that, though his unspoken words remain hanging heavy in the air.

_Trust is dead to me._

* * *

"Hey. Lay on your stomach, big man - I ain't a doctor, but I can scrounge up an ice pack."

Dean had been a constant beacon of light since they had left the Inn, murmuring words of comfort in the air and providing none when it was warranted. A lot of the talking was done by the younger man, which suited him fine.

Roman was reluctant to move - he didn't want to turn his back to anybody else, was afraid of what might happen if he did - but eventually did with Dean's help, carefully being laid out on his stomach. He crossed his arms underneath him, unsure of what to do with them, and Dean shucked off his own jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his light-blue dress shirt. Setting the black jacket down, he looked at the little tub that would hold their ice.

"Damn it, I gotta go get ice. Hold on."

The quiet was welcomed, though Roman would be lying if he said he had wished he was alone again. The loneliness didn't last forever, Dean eventually came back and with a few extra towels and a backpack slung over his shoulder, and when Roman opens his eyes and levels gray eyes up at him, he realizes he'd let his eyes slip closed and that the corners of them were wet and stinging.

He places the bucket of ice on the bedside table and tosses his backpack and the towels on the other bed, Roman's eyes not leaving him the entire time; it's obvious in the way he's chewing on his lip, avoiding looking at the other's face, that he's not sure how to fix this. If he can. But the fact that he's here and not anywhere else is reassuring, because he's not sure how his state of mind would be if he were alone.

A groan escapes him, and it draws Dean's attention, worried blues leveling with tired gray. Without saying anything, the former carefully lays down on the bed beside Roman, who moves over just enough for Dean to fit comfortably next to him. Or, as comfortable as a couple of dudes with broad shoulders and a decent amount of muscles could get.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Turning his head and adjusting so that he could rest his cheek on Roman's arm. "Ain't your fault." A shuddering breath escapes Roman, but before he could try to argue, Dean pushed on. "Don't even think about taking the blame for what that fuckin' skunk-stripe fuckhead did. You're a lotta things, but a traitor ain't one."

It's difficult for him to hear the words, but Roman closes his eyes and focuses on the warm weight of Dean's cheek on his arm, and he unfolds his arm to stretch it carefully across Dean's waist, who wiggles up a bit so the arm isn't over his throat, and breathes out through his nose.

"How's your back?" Roman asks quietly, letting himself focus on the only other person he cared about now. "He got you too."

"'s just a little sore. Not like he did to you."

"No. He did you worse. I heard way more on you than on me."

Dean shakes his head, but yeah, Rollins had gotten him a few extra times. Maybe out of spite. Angry and bitter and …jealous. But before he could argue, Roman continues.

"Besides. It ain't my back that's hurting."

Dean doesn't have anything to say about that.

* * *

It had taken a little while of heavy quiet, a lazy drag of a finger up and down Roman's arm for the bigger man to slowly ease into sleep, deep snores and soft breaths filling the room.

And Dean hadn't realized he'd joined him in sleep until he'd opened his eyes, bleary and feeling like less of a person, Roman's arm curled around his torso but not so much that he couldn't slip away if he wanted. Carefully lifting his arm and replacing where he'd been with his pillow so the other could hug something else, the light-haired goes to his backpack, sliding the zipper up and around and grabbing the Ziploc bag.

Unzipping it, he empties the contents of it inside the bag, zipping the backpack back up and kicking it to the side before he picks up the Ziploc and walks over to the bucket of ice. Taking off the lid, he pours the entire thing - some of the ice had melted, so cold water sloshes onto his fingers as he pours it, and he bites down a muttered _fuckin' A_ \- into the bag and closes it securely.

Plucking one of the towels and shaking it out, he wraps the baggy in it and secures it with a rubber band he'd found on the floor of his car. (How it got there, he didn't know, but it was pretty damned convenient.) Walking over to Roman's other side and running his palm over the big man's shoulders, he mumbles, "Ice incoming," and places the ice down onto a dark bruise.

The way Roman hisses and his body jerks makes his insides twist.

He was supposed to feel fucking _happy_ , spending time with his fucking _boyfriend_ \- and damn it, that was a far less scary word when the object of his affections was someone like Roman - and it was supposed to be different.

_Different._

Walking back around and picking up Roman's arm again, he smacks the pillow out of the way and wiggles his way back into the bed, anger seeping back into his skin, and there's this part of him that's nearly salivating at the thought of payback. But there's plenty of time for that later.

Turning onto his side and laying Roman's heavy arm over his hip, he curls up next to Roman, blue eyes looking over a face that looked too tired. His eyebrows drew in, aggravation setting in, impatience eating away at him. He wasn't sure whether he needed to go for a run or get in a fight. About ready to jump back up and try to do one of them, he feels Roman's arm tighten slightly around his waist, the bag of watered-down ice sloshing as he moved.

Well. Guess he was going nowhere.

* * *

Roman wakes up before the sun, but the alarm clock is unplugged, so he's not sure exactly what time it is; he's bleary, his back is close to numb, but he feels a little better than before, considering. Reaching back, he plucks the towel-wrapped Ziploc off of his back and sets it on the floor. Carefully rolling over, he moves his dark hair out of his face, a few pieces having slipped from his bun, and he reaches back to take out the tie, his dark waves falling over the pillow.

Giving his head a little shake, he shifts to set the tie on the bedside table before rolling back to pull Dean, somewhere between consciousness and not, close to his chest.

"'m glad you're here, D."

A murmured _Mmmmmmhm_ is his answer, and that's fine, because while his words were eloquent of themselves, the slightly-shorter man huddles in closer, allowing the big man to hold him. That of course draws a deep chuckle out of Roman, lips pulled up in one corner, before he places a kiss - soft, warm, lingering - onto Dean's forehead.


End file.
